Fade to Black
by pokeitlikejello
Summary: Huddy. Part of the hospital collapses, trapping House and Cuddy beneath the rubble. After extraction, there's going to be recovery.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** All rights belong to Fox and David Shore. I make no money from this.**  
Author's Note:** We're somewhere in season three, let's say. We've got the old team and no Tritter.

* * *

House frowned as he spotted Cuddy walking down the hallway. He hurried after her, glad her pace wasn't fast enough that he couldn't catch up. He stepped alongside of her.

"What?" House demanded.

Cuddy glanced over at him, her eyebrows drawn. "Hi to you, too."

"Don't give me that," House told her. "What do you want?"

"Who said I wanted anything?" Cuddy asked and stopped in front of the elevators. She pushed the up button.

House maneuvered around her and stood across from her. "Just about everyone I've come in contact with."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you, House." Cuddy shrugged. "I didn't tell anyone I wanted you for any reason."

House narrowed his eyes at her. "Why are you doing this?"

The elevator doors slid open and Cuddy stepped inside. House followed her in, wanting his answer. Cuddy pressed the button for the top floor and House rode along.

"Okay." Cuddy nodded after the doors slid shut. "I did ask for you. I have to make one stop and then we can talk, all right?"

"Talk about what?" House leaned against the side of the elevator. "Your burning love for me?"

Cuddy shot him a look instead of a reprimand since they were currently alone.

"I'll let you know what it's about," she said.

"Let me know now," House whined only because he knew it irritated her.

"Here's not the place," Cuddy replied.

House took an accusatory step closer to her. "Why didn't _you_ directly find me and ask me?"

"I _couldn't_ find you," she answered.

The elevator doors slid open and Cuddy stepped out. House followed after her down the hallway. Cuddy stopped before reaching the doors that would lead them into the Psychiatric Ward.

She walked into the office on her left and House continued to follow her. He froze once inside the room, knowing that he was right in his suspicions of Cuddy. He was being set up.

"Why are we here?" House asked.

Cuddy extended a form she had been clutching the entire time House had been in her presence. The overweight woman with graying hair that sat behind the desk took the form and looked it over. The name plate on the desk identified this woman as Lorraine Smithson.

"Signed, sealed, delivered." Cuddy said and gave a glance at House, wanting to gauge his reaction.

House merely stared at her. "Are you serious?"

"Pee in the cup, Dr. House," Lorraine told him and held out a plastic cup with lid.

House kept his attention on Cuddy, displaying a look of hurt and shock. Cuddy sheepishly refused to meet his gaze.

"The cup, House." Cuddy stared at the cup in Lorraine's hand.

"Don't have to go," House replied.

"Drink some water," Lorraine offered the solution in a harsh tone.

House shook his head. "Don't think that'll work."

Cuddy finally brought her eyes over to him and hissed, "it will if you drink enough."

"Sure you don't need a sperm sample?" House raised his eyebrows in Lorraine's direction.

"Urine." Lorraine clearly wasn't playing along by the lack of any emotion on her face.

House's eyes went back to Cuddy as he swiped the empty plastic cup from Lorraine's outstretched hand. He glared at Cuddy before entering the small bathroom adjoined to the office.

Cuddy looked to Lorraine and gave her an apologetic smile for House's behavior. "Sorry."

"Quite all right." Lorraine's tone indicated otherwise. "Get that behavior a lot from drug addicts."

Cuddy kept her mouth shut. Lorraine marked a few notes down on the form Cuddy had given her. Letting out a quiet sigh, Cuddy looked around the small office.

"I seemed to have dropped the cup in the toilet," House spoke up from inside the bathroom. "Can I get another?"

"No." Lorraine glared in the direction of the bathroom. "Do I need to come in there?"

House didn't answer and Cuddy folded her arms over her chest, waiting for his next act of disobedience. The toilet flushed. Then, it flushed again. And again. Cuddy became alarmed.

"Are you trying to flush the cup?" Lorraine called out and stood from her chair.

Taking her keys from her pocket, Lorraine hurriedly crossed to the bathroom. Cuddy felt color rise to her face with embarrassment over House's actions. Lorraine opened the door to reveal House standing there, a smirk on his face, and holding the sealed cup of urine out for her.

Lorraine glared at House, took the cup, and walked it back over to her desk. She sat down behind the desk and filled out a few more spots on the form. Cuddy also shot a glare in House's direction as he pretended not to notice.

"That's it, then?" House asked Lorraine.

"Sign here."

Lorraine marked an X at the bottom of the form and slid it across the desk to House. He bent down and scrawled his signature where she indicated.

"That's it," Lorraine told him.

House turned and limped from the room. Cuddy gave Lorraine a tight smile before following House out. He was heading for the elevators and Cuddy caught up to his side.

"Thanks for acting completely childish," she sneered in his direction, not looking over at him.

House stopped and faced her. "Thanks for letting me know about the drug test."

"I wasn't allowed," Cuddy replied, annoyed because he knew she couldn't tell him.

House reached into his pocket and pulled out his Vicodin bottle. He popped two pills into his mouth while Cuddy stared at him in disbelief.

"Why did I need one?" House asked.

"Insurance." Cuddy's eyes followed his movements as he replaced the Vicodin back in his pocket. Her eyes went back to his. "And when you fail because you're over your limit, I'll have to call our lawyer-"

"I won't fail," he cut her off.

"Oh?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Nope," House replied, his head held high.

Cuddy quickly connected the dots. "You knew."

House shrugged innocently, but it gave him away. Cuddy shook her head, wondering how he figured it out. She opened her mouth to coax the truth out of him, but stopped when she heard a strange noise.

A loud sputtering noise accompanied by the sound of a low flying airplane grew increasing louder. Cuddy's eyebrows drew together in confusion as she looked in the direction the sound seemed to be coming from.

There was a loud crash and an explosion. The heat hit first, then shards of glass and pieces of metal. House grabbed Cuddy at the waist and pulled her into the empty waiting room on their left in order to avoid the fireball tearing up the hallway.

The walls of the waiting room were shaking and Cuddy could only clutch onto House, panic having frozen her for the moment. House kept his arm around her, his cane forsaken and his thigh throbbing with pain.

Smoke was quickly filling up the room. Cuddy yanked House down to the ground, as she lowered herself down as well, only seconds before the walls and roof collapsed in on them.

* * *

Wilson hurriedly ducked around medical staff, firefighters, and police officers as he finally found where House's team was. Cameron spotted him first as she finished stitching the head of a woman injured outside of the hospital by falling debris.

Chase was flipping through a medical chart of the patient Foreman was taking care of on the bed next to Cameron's patient.

"Where's Dr. Cuddy?" Foreman asked even before Wilson reached them.

The emergency room, as well as the rest of the hospital, had been in complete chaos since a small plane's engine had failed, causing the plane to crash into the hospital.

Wilson planted his hands to his hips. "She hasn't been answering her pages."

"Do you think she was up there?" Chase asked, raising his eyebrows.

"She had no reason to be." Wilson shook his head.

"Except for House," Cameron spoke up and finished off her sutures.

Wilson frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Cuddy had been looking for him all day," Cameron explained.

"Well, where's House?"

Wilson realized that in his search for Cuddy, and in his sidetracking of helping move patients, he never once saw House.

"He went off to find Cuddy," Chase said.

"Half hour or so before the crash," Cameron added.

"You've got to be kidding me." Wilson took a step back and turned around to walk off, but he stopped and turned back around. "Do you know why she wanted him?"

Cameron shrugged. "No clue."

"And House hasn't answered any pages?" Wilson needed to make sure.

"No, but that's not unlike him," Foreman replied. "Though, his cell phone went straight to voicemail."

"So, it may be safe to assume they're together and possibly at the crash sight," Wilson concluded.

Chase looked back down at the chart in his hands while Foreman went back to the patient in front of him. Cameron held Wilson's eye for only a moment, before directing her gaze downward. No one had answers and any explanation they could think of, they hoped was wrong.

* * *

Cuddy was aware of her surroundings long before she opened her eyes. Her body was crushed, from her upper back all the way down the rest of her body. Her right arm was bent backwards and a large object was keeping it there.

She was able to move her left arm and she was aware of the fact that there was a cavity of space around it and her head. She faded in and out of consciousness, and knew there was a gash across her forehead.

As she turned her head in another bout of consciousness, she decided to open her eyes.

It was dark and the air tasted smoky. Cuddy ran her left hand out, feeling for anything. She hit splintered wood, brick, something soft and warm. Cuddy clutched onto it. It was a hand.

"Hey," her voice came out, nothing above a whisper. "Hey." She tried again. Still inaudible.

Cuddy shook the hand. It jerked.

"House," she croaked.

"Cuddy." His voice was just as rough as hers.

"What the hell... happened?" The longer sentences were harder since her breathing was being restricted from all the weight.

"This your hand?" House asked and Cuddy was unsure if he ignored her question or never heard it to begin with.

She felt his fingers squeeze her hand. She squeezed back.

"Yes," Cuddy answered his question. "I'm right here."

"I can't move anything," he told her.

"Just my arm and head," she replied.

"Wish I was you," House said.

"No." Cuddy felt tears in her eyes. "I can't feel... my legs."

"What?" House squeezed her hand slightly.

"My legs." Cuddy drew in a shaky breath. "I can't feel them."

"They're probably numb from the weight," House offered as an explanation, not wanting her to become upset.

"There's no pain."

House fell quiet, hoping that Cuddy wasn't as seriously injured as she seemed. Cuddy lost herself in her own worried thoughts.

"We should call out for help," House spoke up.

Cuddy looked over to where her hand was. "Think anyone will hear us?"

House applied a bit of pressure to her hand. "Couldn't hurt to try."

"On three." Cuddy paused a moment to draw in a breath. "It'll be louder. One... two... three."

Together, House and Cuddy cried out for help, their voices straining to be heard by anyone. They were greeted with quiet.

"Try again?" House asked her.

"Let me... catch my breath." Cuddy took in a few breaths, as deep as she could. "Can you breathe... all right?"

"Yeah," House answered. "Must have a bit of room somewhere."

"Okay." Cuddy nodded slightly, even though he couldn't see her. "Count of three."

"I'll count," House offered, since Cuddy was having trouble breathing. "One, two, three."

Again, the two called for help. Again, they were met with quiet. For the next hour, House and Cuddy repeated this process, making sure to take breaks for Cuddy to catch her breath.

"I can't anymore," Cuddy finally told him, feeling exhausted.

"We'll try more later," House said.

"Okay." Cuddy was wheezing.

"Are you okay?" House's tone indicated his concern.

Colorful spots popped up over Cuddy's darkness and she felt nauseous. She let her head rest and closed her eyes.

"Hey." House squeezed her limp hand. "Lisa, hey..."

"Hm?" Cuddy raised her head slightly, eyes still closed.

He gave her hand another squeeze. "What's going on?"

"My head's bleeding." Cuddy let her head rest again.

"How bad?" House asked.

"It's all over," Cuddy mumbled, hating the taste of blood mixed with dirt in her mouth.

"Can you apply pressure?" House said.

"No."

"What about with your hand?" House loosened his grip on her hand.

She clutched onto him tighter. "No."

"We'll get out of here." House tried to be optimistic only for her.

"Uh-huh," Cuddy agreed, whether she believed it or not.

"I'm sure there's already teams looking," he added.

"Yeah," she replied.

"Please, stay awake," House pleaded.

"House..." Cuddy gave his hand a squeeze.

"Stay with me."

Cuddy's hand went limp, but it still remained warm. House shifted slightly, every muscle screaming in pain. He was completely trapped, his head unable to move. He was staring to the side, seeing nothing, but black.

"Help!" he shouted. "Help!"

House listened, hoping to hear movement or someone calling back, but there wasn't a sound. He gave Cuddy's hand a gentle squeeze. It helped him feel less alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, guys! Thanks for the awesome feedback! I really appreciate it. :o)**

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"Oh where, oh where can my baby be..."

House trailed off in his singing, listening hard. Nothing. He continued on.

"The Lord took her away from me."

He paused again, recalling the words. "She's gone to heaven, so I've got to be good. So I can see my baby when I leave this world."

House tried to shift himself, but to no avail. The weight of the debris was really getting to him. He shook Cuddy's hand gently, missing her presence.

"When I woke up, the rain was pouring down," House began to sing again, his voice low. "There were people standing all around... Somethin' warm goin' through my eyes, but somehow I found my baby that night."

"House."

Her voice startled him, practically making him jump out of his skin—which he figured, at the given time, wouldn't necessarily have been a bad thing.

"Cuddy," House responded to her.

"Are you singing?" she asked.

"No," he lied.

"It's nice," Cuddy commented, her hand moving slightly against his.

"How are you feeling?" House said.

"Awful," she answered. Her head was still bleeding.

"Yeah," House agreed.

Cuddy placed her head down. "I want to sleep."

"No," House quickly interjected. "No, stay with me. Squeeze my hand. Come on."

Cuddy gave a light squeeze to his hand.

"You can do better than that," House told her.

She gave another, firmer squeeze. House smirked and squeezed back. Cuddy didn't say anything and House instantly grew concerned.

"Cuddy?" he asked.

"Hm?" She opened her eyes, but her head still rested.

"You're going to stay with me, right?" House shook her hand slightly.

"I'll try," Cuddy replied, but she sounded defeated.

"'To be, or not to be, that is the question;'" House quoted. "'Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer—the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune—or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them...'"

He paused.

"Your turn."

Cuddy lifted her head, eyes still open, and looked toward the direction of House. "What?"

"Shakespeare, Cuddy," House spoke as if he hadn't been obvious enough by the chosen quote. "Give me a quote."

"I can't..." Cuddy shook her head. "I can't think of any."

"Try harder," House insisted.

"Um..." Cuddy thought a moment, becoming focused. "'What's in a name? That which we—'" she drew in a breath, "'call a rose by any... other name... would smell as sweet.'"

"_Romeo and Juliet_, Cuddy?" House asked, noting that she was still having trouble breathing. "Really? Should I drink the poison now?"

"You asked... for a quote." Cuddy's tone indicated anger. "And we are no... Romeo and Juliet."

"Says you," House said. "Two tortured souls—"

"They were merely kids," she cut him off.

"Split apart by clear hatred from either family," House went on. "The Montagues and the..."

"Capulets," Cuddy finished for him.

"Right," House agreed. "Torn apart by hatred, but—"

"They were stupid," Cuddy interrupted him again and then drew in a breath. "Romeo was too... brash, he acted—"

"Like a man in love," this time, House cut her off.

"Like a teen boy," Cuddy finished her thought. She swallowed hard. "Why are we debating... this now?"

"We're discussing," House clarified.

"I'm tired," Cuddy told him, all spark over the Shakespeare conversation gone.

"Too bad," he replied.

Cuddy squeezed House's hand as she let her head drop. Her eyes closed and her grip loosened with House.

"Don't leave again," he whispered.

It was quiet. House figured Cuddy slipped back into unconsciousness, which meant he was alone. He thought of something else to sing, to do, to keep himself sane.

"'Why, then, the world's... my oyster,'" Cuddy quoted, her voice very low and tired. "'Which I... with sword... will open.'"

"What was that?" House asked, relieved she was still with him.

"Shakespeare," she answered.

House squeezed her hand and she gave a weak squeeze back.

"We're going to get out of here," he assured her. "So, you have to stay with me."

Cuddy groaned slightly. "It's not like... I have a choice."

"I know," House agreed.

The quiet overtook them once more. House wondered if maybe they both just couldn't hear any rescue due to the explosion and the collapse damaging their ears. However, those thoughts didn't hold up long as he identified the sound of Cuddy's shallow breathing.

"Cuddy?" House spoke up.

"Huh?" Cuddy mumbled.

"Just making sure you're still there," he said.

"I am."

A sound that was a mix of a gasp and a choke escaped from Cuddy's mouth before she broke out into a coughing fit. Once the gasping cough subsided, she swallowed hard against a sore throat.

"I can't breathe," she croaked.

"Well, try." House's words came out harsher than he meant them to be due to his worry.

"If I..." Cuddy swallowed hard again. "If I don't... don't make it..."

"You'll make it," House insisted.

"I don't know," Cuddy replied, a lump forming in her throat as her eyes watered.

House squeezed her hand. "Don't think like that, okay?"

"How else... am I suppose to... think?" Cuddy demanded, wishing she could get out a full sentence. "My head... is bleeding and I... can't breathe!"

"Calm down," House told her.

Cuddy felt the tears falling from her eyes. She held onto House's hand tighter. House, in return, held onto her hand tighter, wishing it would comfort her. Her crying made it even harder for her to catch her breath.

"You've got to calm down, Cuddy," House said.

She began to gasp for breath through her tears.

"But, somehow I found my baby that night," House continued singing the song from before. "I lifted her head, she looked at me and said 'hold me, darlin,' just a little while.'"

House listened, knowing Cuddy was starting to calm. He continued, "I held her close, I kissed her our last kiss. I found the love that I knew I'd miss. Well, now she's gone even though I hold her tight. I lost my love, my life, that night."

House paused for a second time, Cuddy's crying reduced to labored breathing.

"Oh where, oh where can my baby be," he sang on. "The Lord took her away from me. She's gone to heaven so I've got to be good."

Cuddy's hand went limp again within his own. His voice dropped down into a whisper as he finished the song.

"So I can see my baby when I leave this world."

House let out a groan now that Cuddy was out. The pain was really getting to him. He almost wished his lower half was numb. His thigh felt like it was burning. He was just glad he had taken Vicodin before this happened. He couldn't imagine what it would be like without it.

A voice caused House to snap to attention. He squeezed Cuddy's hand as if he thought it would wake her. It didn't.

"Help!" House called out in a hoarse voice. "Over here! Help!"

"Here." A muffled male voice in close proximity spoke. "We have someone over here!"

"Be careful," a deeper male voice replied to the other. "Careful!"

"Help!" House shouted again.

"We're getting you out," the muffled male said. "Just remain still."

"I'm being crushed," House snapped at the man. "I'm sure that won't be a problem."

"Stay calm," the man assured him.

"You need to get her first," House told the man, wondering where, exactly, he was.

"Who?" a different male's voice spoke up.

"She's here." House shook Cuddy's hand. "I have her hand."

"Hold on, all right?" the first male spoke up.

There was a shift of pressure and House wasn't staring at black anymore. A slit of light crossed over his eyes.

"Okay," the first man said. "We see you. Hold it." His voice got farther away. "Stop. We stable?"

"Yeah," the deeper male voice replied.

"Okay."

There was moving of materials, more pressure being taken off of House. It was suddenly bright above him.

"You have to get her," House insisted.

"We'll get her," the man assured him. "Don't worry."

"Just be careful," House told him. "I think she has a spinal cord injury."

"We'll be careful," the man replied as he placed a neck brace around House's neck. "Just stay calm and don't move."

* * *

Cameron hurried around a corner as she speed walked down a hallway in the hospital. She pushed open the door to the employee break room and scanned for Wilson. He was making himself a sandwich in the kitchenette.

"House was just brought into the ER," Cameron called out to him, holding the door open.

Wilson dropped his sandwich to the counter and headed toward her.

"How is he?"

"Don't know." Cameron waited for Wilson to cross through the doorway before following him.

"What about Cuddy?" Wilson asked, glancing over at Cameron.

"Don't know," Cameron said again, keeping up with his fast pace.

They reached the Emergency Room in record time. There were bleeding bodies, busy nurses, and tired doctors crammed into the space, working towards a common goal of ending the chaos. Wilson spotted his friend being examined behind a half pulled curtain.

"House." Wilson gave a nod in the direction of House and tapped Cameron on her arm.

Cameron followed Wilson over to where House was being examined by Doctor Markus. Wilson remained by the end of the bed while Cameron moved toward House's side, examining every bleeding cut, every bruise, every mark of dirt.

"What happened up there?" she asked, her eyes meeting his.

"The walls came tumbling down," he told her and then looked to Wilson.

"Where's Cuddy?" Wilson demanded. "Was she with you?"

House nodded. He let out a cry of pain as Dr. Markus fastened the last strap on a splint around his left leg. He glared at Dr. Markus.

"That hurt," House snapped through gritted teeth.

"You'll be all right, Doctor House," Dr. Markus replied and began to walk away. "I'm going to get you more pain medication."

"We've got another!" a male paramedic's voice rang out as the doors to the Emergency Room flew open.

"Cuddy," House spoke, knowing.

The paramedics moved Cuddy to the free bed next to House. Cameron and Wilson stared while House's eyes remained fixed on the ceiling.

Cuddy's face was covered in blood and her eyes were closed.

"We need an IV and oxygen," the paramedic told whoever had come to help. "Blood pressure's eighty over sixty."

"Is she conscious?" Wilson asked, watching as they cleaned a spot on her arm before inserting the needle for the IV.

"No," the paramedic told him. "And we need to get her to X-ray."

"BP rising," a young female nurse announced.

"Let's move."

The paramedics and several nurses wheeled Cuddy out on a stretcher. Wilson turned to House, a frown on his face.

"I'm going with them," he said.

"Tell them to be careful." House looked to Wilson, locking eyes with him. "Her spinal cord could be damaged."

Wilson gave a short nod and took off out of the Emergency Room. Cameron remained at House's side. She looked him over again.

"You look terrible."

House glanced at her. "Thanks."

Cameron picked up a towel set alongside of a basin filled with water. She dipped the towel in and began to clean the dirt and blood from House's face.

Dr. Markus walked back over to them, his eyes on House. "We're waiting for a free X-ray machine to make sure there aren't any problems with the break in your leg." He injected House's IV with more pain medication. "I'll be back."

He walked off again while Cameron continued to wipe House's face clean. House closed his eyes, letting her take care of him while the drugs did their work on his pain.

"What happened?" Cameron asked softly as she swiped at the dried blood on his neck.

"Something crashed into the hospital," House answered, his eyes still closed. He was thinking of Cuddy.

"It was a small plane," Cameron told him. She dipped the towel into the slightly dirty basin water. "Why were you and Cuddy up there?"

"Had to take a drug test." He opened his eyes and directed them to her.

Cameron froze, mid-wringing of the towel. "What?"

"For insurance," House said. "Don't worry, I passed." He shut his eyes again. "Although, I guess it doesn't matter since my piss got blown to pieces."

"There's been sixteen casualties so far, including the people on the plane." Cameron ran the wet towel gently over his throat. "About twenty others injured. They're still searching the area."

"Cuddy said she couldn't feel her legs."

Cameron stopped cleaning him and set the towel in the basin. She wasn't sure what to say to that, or even if it meant anything as serious as she thought it did. She took a step back.

"I'll get you a hospital gown."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, everyone!! Thank you so much for the tremendous feedback! I'm glad you're all so interested in this fic. Thank you!!**

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"Hey."

Wilson stepped further into House's hospital room, but remained near the doorway. House opened his eyes and directed them to Wilson.

"How is she?" he asked. It had been hours since he had any news on Cuddy.

"Still out," Wilson said as he crossed over to House's bed. "They operated to try and fix the spinal cord damage. It went well, but they're not sure what the outcome will be. Not until she wakes up. How's your leg?"

House raised his eyebrows. "Which one?"

"The broken one," Wilson answered, narrowing his eyes.

House looked to his left leg in a white cast. It was set on top of two pillows to keep it elevated. He brought his eyes back to his friend.

"Won't be able to walk for a while," he told him.

"Yeah," Wilson agreed and planted his hands to his hips. "You're lucky to be alive."

House gave a small shrug. "I'm not that bad off."

"Broken leg, two broken ribs, concussion," Wilson rattled off. "Not to mention all the cuts and bruises."

"What're her injuries?" House tried to ask his question as casually as possible in order to appear as if he didn't care.

"The spinal cord damage, but they think it wasn't sever enough to cause any permanent damage," Wilson informed his friend, knowing it _did_ mean more to him than he was letting on. "Her shoulder popped out of its socket and she had a deep gash across her forehead. Took about fifteen stitches. The ribs on her left side are bruised and a few are fractured. Plus, the rest of the bruises and scrapes."

House ran his tongue over his dry bottom lip. "They keeping her here?"

"I don't know." Wilson shrugged. "I think they're waiting until she wakes before trying to answer any questions."

House nodded and Wilson took a seat next to his bed.

* * *

"Good morning, Doctor House," Anne Richards, a day shift nurse, greeted brightly as she stepped into House's hospital room.

House looked toward her, glaring. "I want out of this bed."

"You need to rest with those ribs of yours," Anne told him as she plumped the pillows his leg was resting on. "And this needs to stay elevated."

"Put me in a wheelchair," House told her, not caring about his ribs or his leg.

Anne frowned. "Dr. House—"

"Now," he cut her off. "And if you won't help me, I'll find a way to do it myself."

Anne planted her hands on her hips, sizing him up. She had been working at Princeton-Plainboro for less than a year, but she certainly knew of House's antics.

"Where do you want to go?" she asked, but her tone remained flat, indicating she hadn't yet given in.

"To piss," he challenged her.

Anne reached over to the desk next to House's hospital bed and picked up the plastic bedpan. She extended it towards him with a tight smile on her face.

House scratched his ear as he looked away. "I want to see Doctor Cuddy."

Anne set the bedpan back on the desk and gave a nod toward House. She had a feeling he had a very specific reason for wanting out of the bed.

"I'll be right back," she told him and left the room.

House let out a sigh and rested into his pillows. He wondered if Cuddy was awake and if she was, if she'd want to see him. He wondered if she was paralyzed and how she'd cope if that was the case. He wondered a lot of things, but he had no answers. Not when he was stuck in a hospital room.

Anne entered into his hospital room for a second time. This time, however, she was pushing a wheelchair in front of her.

"Ready?" she asked him as she cocked an eyebrow.

* * *

House wheeled himself into Cuddy's hospital room after he had tried to run Anne over in order to get her off his back.

Cuddy was in the hospital bed, her eyes closed. She was hooked to IVs and monitors, one of them producing a steady beep. There was a large bandage across her forehead as well as some bruises and scrapes on her arms and other parts of her face. Her right arm was in a sling.

House parked himself at the foot of her bed and pulled back the bed sheets. He examined her toes, her feet, her thin legs, wondering if she'd walk with them, if she could feel them.

He ran his fingertip up and down the bottom of her right foot. His finger slid over the backs of her toes before coasting back down again. Her foot twitched.

House looked toward the head of the bed, his mouth open. "Cuddy?"

Slowly, her eyes opened. She blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted to the light. Cuddy glanced around the room before focusing on House.

"Can you feel this?" House ran his fingertip over the bottom of her foot again, which caused Cuddy to twitch once more.

"Stop," she said, her voice rough.

"You can feel it?" he asked, mouth partially open.

"Tickles," she replied and frowned.

"Move your toes," he commanded.

Cuddy looked down at her feet and studied them for a moment. Slowly, the toes on her right foot began to wiggle.

"And your foot," House added.

Her face scrunched up as she focused even more. This was harder for her and she wasn't quite sure if her foot was going to comply, but suddenly, her right foot moved forward and back.

House directed his gaze to her left foot. "Now, the other side."

With a stern look of concentration on her face, Cuddy managed to get her left foot to move forward and back, but not nearly to the extent of her right foot.

"And the toes," House prompted and Cuddy obliged. House felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips. "It may not be as bad as I thought it was going to be."

"It hurts," Cuddy told him.

House's eyes met hers. "Your legs?"

"My back... an' head... an' chest."

"Call the nurse," he said. "Get some more pain medication."

House placed the blankets back over Cuddy's feet. He wheeled himself toward the head of the bed. Cuddy watched as he did so.

"What happened to you?" she asked.

"Broken leg." He indicated the leg that extended from his wheelchair. "Few broken ribs—"

"You should be resting," she cut him off.

"Had to see you," he replied and parked himself next to her bed.

Cuddy let her head fall against the pillows and closed her eyes. She still wasn't completely there. The drugs made her loopy and the pain made her want to sleep in order to not feel it.

"My head hurts," she muttered, the pounding in her brain increasing.

House reached for the call button on the side of the bed. He pressed down on the button for a few seconds before letting it go. Within a minute, a nurse entered the room.

"Yes, Doctor Cuddy?" she asked as she crossed toward the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Cuddy opened her eyes and focused on the nurse, but didn't say anything. House turned his wheelchair to look at the nurse.

"She's in pain," he told her.

"Has it gotten worse?" the nurse directed her question to Cuddy.

"Yes," Cuddy said quietly.

"I'll up your pain medication," the nurse said.

She walked over to the machine monitoring Cuddy's pain medication and increased the amount she was receiving. After she changed it, the nurse stepped back and picked up the pitcher of water on the table next to the bed. She poured the water into a cup.

"You should have something to drink," she informed Cuddy.

The nurse held the straw emerging from the cup toward Cuddy's mouth. Cuddy latched on and sucked some of the cool liquid into her mouth. She swallowed hard and released the straw. She shook her head, not wanting any more.

The nurse set the cup back on the table and gave Cuddy a smile.

"I'll be back in to check on you in a bit."

House watched the nurse walk around the bed and leave the hospital room. Once she was gone, he looked back over at Cuddy, who had been studying him.

"The drugs should be kicking in," House told her.

"You should be resting," she repeated her earlier comment.

House wheeled back and forth in his chair. "Don't worry about me, Cuddy."

"You were singing."

He stopped moving. "When?"

"Up there." Cuddy looked toward the ceiling.

"Nah." House shook his head. "Wasn't me."

"We could have died," she said bluntly.

"But, we didn't."

Cuddy felt herself beginning to drift off, but she forced herself to stay awake because House was still there. He sensed this, however, and spoke up.

"I'm going to head out and find Wilson. I promised him a wheelchair race." He moved his chair back, but stopped. "I'll see you later."

"Okay," Cuddy agreed, giving a slight nod.

She watched as House backed up in his wheelchair before heading out of the room. Once he was out of sight, she let her eyes close and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

House stared at the door to his office. He tried to determine the best way to open it in a wheelchair. He figured attacking it with his backside would be his best option because he wasn't about to run his casted left leg into the door.

"What're you doing?"

Trying to hold back a sigh, House looked to his left. Chase approached him, his eyebrows raised.

"Where is the rest of the brigade?" House asked.

"Lunch," Chase answered and stopped next to House's wheelchair.

"Why aren't you with them?" House eyed Chase up.

Chase maneuvered around House and entered into his office. He held the door open in order to let House enter. House wheeled himself inside and glanced toward Chase.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Chase let the door close. "Shouldn't you be in bed or something? I thought you had broken ribs."

"I do."

House wheeled himself across the room and to his desk. He dug through the bottom drawer before he found what he was looking for—one of his hidden bottles of Vicodin. He smirked to himself as he pocketed it.

"Getting your stash?" Chase raised his eyebrows for a second time.

"Tic-tacs," House replied and made his way back toward the door.

"Yeah, right," Chase agreed sarcastically.

"Get the door," House commanded.

Chase obliged, looking down at House as he passed through the doorway. Cameron and Foreman approached the two just as Chase was following House out of his office.

"House," Cameron said, slightly surprised to see him moving about.

"How are you feeling?" Foreman asked.

"Terrible," House answered brightly. "Back to bed for me."

With that, House wheeled himself toward the elevators, leaving behind his slightly confused team. Once he was safely inside an empty elevator, House twisted open the top to his Vicodin bottle and swallowed three pills dry.

* * *

It was dark and very late when Cuddy awoke. There were a few more vases of flowers situated around the room. Also, there was House.

"Hey," she greeted him quietly.

"I was bored," he told her as he wheeled his chair closer to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Cuddy shrugged slightly with her left shoulder. Her head felt disconnected from her body and there was only a dull sense of pain in her back. She lifted her left arm and placed her hand on the bandage stuck to her forehead.

"Wilson said it took about fifteen stitches," House said and she nodded in response. He turned his wheelchair sideways to get even closer to the bed. "Here."

House leaned towards her, feeling a sharp pain in his side as he did so. He ignored the pain as he took Cuddy's left hand within his. She watched him and he gave her hand a squeeze.

"Romeo and Juliet, right?" he asked.

A smile crossed over her lips, but she shook her head. He released her hand, a smirk on his own lips, and sat back in his chair.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey, guys! Thanks for fabulous comments. I appreciate them all so much.**

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"Okay." Jane gave Cuddy a smile. "We're going to get you standing."

A worried expression crossed over Cuddy's face and she tensed in her wheelchair. Jane's smile grew. She had been working with Cuddy in rehabilitation for a few weeks and she was certain that Cuddy had the strength to stand.

"Now, don't worry," Jane told Cuddy reassuringly. "It's going to be fine."

"Am I ready?" Cuddy asked. "I mean, we've only been doing exercises where I'm sitting and I don't know if I can..."

"You _can_ do this, Lisa," Jane insisted. "Kevin and I will get you up and standing, okay? Can you take your feet off the pedals?"

Cuddy clutched onto the armrests, careful of her right side since her shoulder was still sore. She focused hard on lifting her right leg. Her foot raised just enough to slide from the pedal and to the floor. She drew in a deep breath and attempted to move her left foot to the floor.

Her left leg began to shake, not doing what she wanted it to do. She stopped trying and let out a sigh. She had been hopeful when she was aware that she had feeling back in her legs, and she had certainly been hopeful when she could move her toes and feet. But, her hope began to dissipate as she worked in physical therapy.

If there was improvement, it was gradual and the strength training was grueling. She often felt sore and tired, and spent most nights worrying if she'd ever get out of a wheelchair.

"What's the point of standing if I won't be able to walk?" Cuddy said bitterly.

"We'll get there, Lisa." Jane placed a comforting hand on Cuddy's left shoulder. "You need your balance first."

"I can't lift my left leg," Cuddy told her, slightly ashamed since she was able to do so yesterday.

"You can use your hands to help if it's too difficult today," Jane replied kindly.

Lowering her gaze, Cuddy used her hands to lift her left leg at the thigh. She swung her leg enough so that her foot landed on the floor. Jane bent down and fixed Cuddy's feet, so they pointed forward, before moving the foot pedals out of the way.

"Okay." She straightened up and planted her hands to her hips. "You ready, Lisa?"

Cuddy nodded. "Yeah."

Jane waved for Kevin, an attractive, young physical therapist, to join them. Kevin obliged, a smile on his face. He greeted Cuddy and waited for Jane's instructions.

"I'm going to hold onto your arms, while you hold onto my forearms," Jane said to Cuddy. "Kevin will help to get you standing from behind. All right?"

"What about my shoulder?" Cuddy looked to her right shoulder, worried that it would get damaged in the process.

"There will be no pulling of the arms." Jane tried to ease Cuddy's worries. "I will be holding your upper arms tightly while Kevin lifts you from the waist. He will hold you at the waist while you're on your feet so you won't fall. There shouldn't be any need for strain to be put on your shoulder."

"Okay." Cuddy nodded.

"Scoot forward in the chair," Jane instructed and Cuddy did so.

Jane held onto Cuddy's arms as planned, while Cuddy held onto Jane's in return. Kevin got into position next to the locked wheelchair.

"On the count of three we'll go." Jane paused. "One... two... three."

Jane tightened her grip on Cuddy while Kevin helped lift Cuddy up and suddenly, she was standing in front of her wheelchair. She grasped onto Jane tightly, not wanting to fall.

Cuddy wobbled, the ground beneath her uncertain. Kevin still held onto Cuddy, but he loosened his grip in order for her to work on her balance. Her legs continued to tremble.

"Straighten your back," Jane commanded.

Cuddy shook her head. "I can't."

Her legs trembled even more and she continued to shake her head.

"Okay," Jane replied. "Sit."

Kevin eased Cuddy back into the chair and Jane let go of Cuddy's arms. Cuddy leaned into her chair, her heart and head pounding.

"I can't do this," she said.

"Kevin, give us a minute?" Jane directed her question to the man standing behind Cuddy's wheelchair.

He nodded. "Sure."

Kevin walked away and Jane knelt down in front of the wheelchair. She waited until Cuddy looked up at her.

"Don't let yourself get discouraged, Lisa," Jane told her. "I know it's frustrating, but you'll work through it. You have to start somewhere."

"I can't stand," Cuddy replied dejectedly.

"You just did," Jane pointed out.

Cuddy held Jane's gaze. "It was pathetic."

Jane raised her eyebrows. "This kind of mentality will keep you in that chair." She softened. "Why don't we try again now that you know what to expect?"

Cuddy thought it over a moment before giving in. "Fine."

"Kevin." Jane stood as she waved Kevin over.

Kevin approached for a second time, a smile on his face still. "Ready to go at it again, Dr. Cuddy?"

"Sure." Cuddy gave him a tight smile in return.

* * *

House wheeled himself into Cuddy's hospital room. She was in bed, her eyes across the room on the television. House noted she wasn't focused on what was playing and she certainly didn't notice he entered the room.

"Show that good, huh?" he asked loudly, snapping her out of her reverie.

"What?" Cuddy looked over at him.

House parked himself by her bed. "How was physical therapy?"

"Tiring," Cuddy answered and turned off the television with the remote.

"Yeah," House agreed, knowing that his physical therapy often left him feeling tired as well. "Do you want to have dinner together?"

Cuddy held his eye contact for a moment before shaking her head. "I'm not leaving my hospital room unless I have to."

"You can't keep yourself locked up in here," he told her.

"Well, I'm not going around the hospital in a wheelchair," she bitterly replied.

"You're going to have to if you want to start working again," he pointed out.

"I can work from in here."

Cuddy pressed the button on the side of her bed to raise her up more into the sitting position. She winced in slight pain at the movement. House eyed her up.

"You're kidding, right?" he asked.

"No, I'm not, House," she answered. "I don't want anyone to see me in a wheelchair if they don't have to. Nurses and physical therapy. That's it. And when I have to go to PT, I pray I don't run into anyone who wants to stop and chat. It's embarrassing."

House frowned. "You're being an idiot, Cuddy. You can't walk. What else are you suppose to do?"

"Learn to walk," she offered, a frown setting on her own face.

He raised his eyebrows. "And how long will that take?"

She looked away from him. "I don't know."

"Exactly," he replied. "So, suck it up and stop self pitying, Cuddy."

Cuddy's head snapped back in his direction. "I don't want to be in a wheelchair, House!"

"Neither do I," House told her with a shrug.

"And you won't have to once your leg heals," she spat. "But, I don't know if I'll ever get better."

Cuddy looked away from him again. House fell quiet and began to move his chair back and forth with the wheels. When he realized Cuddy wasn't going to give him her attention again, he stopped his movements.

"You'll get better," he said, breaking the silence.

"I can barely stand on my own." She refused to look at him. "If I can't stand, I can't walk."

House wheeled himself even closer to her bed. "It'll take time."

"Yeah," she agreed dejectedly.

A nurse entered the hospital room, carrying a small paper cup of pills. Cuddy turned to look at her as she crossed the room.

"Dr. Cuddy, I brought your pain meds after your intense physical therapy today," the nurse told her.

Cuddy shook her head. "I don't want them. The pain's not that bad."

"Well, I'll set them here in case you do."

The nurse walked over to where House was and reached across him as she placed the paper cup on the stand next to the bed. House kept his gaze on the cup as the nurse made her way back out of the room.

"You don't want them?" House asked Cuddy, eyebrows raised.

"No." Cuddy finally brought her eyes back over to him. "I'm sore, but I'd rather do without the drugs. I'm just going to nap or something."

Cuddy turned her head away from House as she closed her eyes, showing him that she was clearly finished with this conversation.

"I'll see you later," House said.

He began to wheel himself toward the door when he stopped. He turned his wheelchair around and eyed up the small paper cup again. Biting his lower lip and being as quiet as possible, House wheeled himself over to the stand next to the bed.

With his eyes on Cuddy, House picked up the cup and dumped both pills into his hand. He set the cup back as he popped both pills into his mouth. After he swallowed them dry, he wheeled himself out of the hospital room, the pills leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

* * *

House turned around a corner quickly, catching an intern off guard and causing him to crash into the janitor mopping the floor. A smirk crossing over his face, House continued down the hall at top speed. He stopped quickly, however, when he spotted Wilson. His hands burned as he finally got the wheels on his chair to stop.

"You're going to be involved in a hit and run with that thing, aren't you?" Wilson asked, narrowing his eyes at his friend.

"Would it be considered vehicular homicide?" House raised his eyebrows.

Wilson shook his head. "You're the only one I know who could make a wheelchair into a weapon."

House shrugged. "I was just with Cuddy."

"How is she?" A look of concern crossed over Wilson's face as he planted his hands to his hips.

"Worried," House answered and then added, "upset, depressed, bedridden."

"I heard she was going to stand today in physical therapy," Wilson said.

"She didn't mention it, but I'm sure it's safe to say that she sucked at it," House replied.

Wilson's eyebrows drew together. "I better go see her. I'll talk to you later, House."

House watched as Wilson left him for Cuddy. With an annoyed sigh, House wheeled himself into his hospital room.

Once inside, he directed himself over to the table next to the bed and picked up the remote for the television. He turned the television on and began flipping through the channels.

The night shift nurse, Jamie, entered his room. House didn't care for her too much, especially since she reminded him of a slightly younger version of his Great Aunt Bess. Jamie gave him a smile.

"You're back just in time for your pain medication," Jamie told him.

"Perfect," House brightly replied.

Jamie dumped the pills into his hand and crushed the small paper cup within her own. She picked up the water pitcher from the table by the bed and poured the water into a plastic cup. She set the pitcher down and gave the cup to House.

House took his pills with the water and handed the cup back to her.

"Now, would you like to eat your dinner in bed or in the wheelchair?" Jamie asked him after she placed the cup back on the table.

House raised his eyebrows at her. "Do I actually have a choice?"

"Bed, it is." Jamie headed for the door. "I'll get someone to help me."

"Sounds perfect," House replied sarcastically and watched her leave.

Letting out a sigh, House turned his television off. He knew the amount of medication he had just taken paired with Cuddy's pills and the Vicodin he had taken prior to visiting Cuddy meant he would probably be knocked out even before his meal arrived.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey, everyone! Thank you for the comments on the last chapter. The end of the semester plus the holidays equals stress, so sorry you all had to wait a little bit for this chapter.**

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"Good afternoon, Doctor House," Anne greeted as she entered House's hospital room. "I brought a wheelchair if you want out of that bed."

House's eyes settled on the wheelchair before lifting to her face.

"Thank God," he replied.

Anne smiled. "Thought so. Let me get Robbie and we'll get you in the chair."

House let his tongue run over his lips. "Wanna bring some meds for the pain while you're at it?"

"Hm..." Anne sidled over to log on the end of his bed and took a look at it. "You were given Vicodin an hour ago."

"Yeah," House agreed. "Still hurts."

Anne shook her head and replaced the log at the end of his bed. "I'm sorry, Dr. House, but you're on a strict schedule with your pain medication."

"So, you're going to let me suffer?" He raised his eyebrows at her.

Anne frowned. "I can check with your doctor, but—"

"Forget it," House said tiredly. "Just get me in that chair."

"I'll get Robbie."

House watched as Anne left his hospital room. He reached toward the small flower pot on the table next to his hospital bed and brought it towards himself. He pulled his Vicodin bottle from inside and rattled it. There wasn't much left.

He popped the lid from the bottle and took two of the pills. After snapping on the lid, House shoved the bottle into the pocket of the robe he was wearing. He placed the flower pot back on the table just as Anne entered back into the room.

* * *

House placed his hands on the wheels to his wheelchair, allowing for Anne to stop pushing him. She stepped to the side of the wheelchair and looked down at him.

"Thanks," House mumbled. "Here's good."

"I'll see you later then," Anne told him. "And please come back at a reasonable time. I don't want to hunt for you."

House took off in the chair, not giving Anne any sort of reply. He reached Cuddy's hospital room and turned into it, only to find it empty. Frowning, House wheeled himself into the hallway and looked around for a nurse. A middle aged nurse entered into the hall from a hospital room.

"Hey," House called to her.

The nurse stopped and walked toward House. "Doctor House, what do—"

"Where is she?" House gave a nod toward Cuddy's hospital room.

"Doctor Cuddy had her physical therapy moved to one thirty," the nurse replied.

"Why?" House asked.

"I don't know." She shrugged. "You'll have to ask her."

"I will."

House quickly took off for the elevators. The nurse called out to him, but he ignored her. He was on a mission now and determined to find Cuddy.

* * *

Without slowing, House entered into the main room for physical therapy, nearly knocking down a woman and child. He skirted to a stop when Todd, his physical therapist, rapidly approached. Todd made sure the woman and child were okay before turning to House.

"Doctor House, what are you doing here?" Todd asked. "We don't have physical therapy with you until Friday."

"I know," House replied. "I came to see Dr. Cuddy."

"You'll have to wait." Todd indicated for House to enter back into the waiting room.

House looked past Todd and scanned the large room. His eyes wandered over various stations, some being occupied by diligently working patients.

He saw Cuddy standing between two parallel bars, wheelchair directly behind her as she attempted to balance and keep herself standing. Jane was spotting her from the front.

"Cuddy!" House called out toward her.

Cuddy's head snapped up and she looked in his direction. House wheeled himself around Todd and toward Cuddy. She quickly lost focus and Jane grabbed her at the waist as her legs gave out. Jane eased her back into the wheelchair.

"What are you doing here?" Cuddy hissed, glaring at House.

"You weren't in your room," he said simply.

"And?" Cuddy raised her eyebrows sharply.

"I wanted to see the progress your making," he replied with a shrug.

"I don't want you here," she told him harshly.

"Too bad."

Jane drew in a breath. "Dr. House, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

He shook his head slightly. "I'm not leaving."

"House, get out!" Cuddy shouted at him, getting a few glances from others in the room who weren't involved in the conversation.

House studied her, his eyes examining every inch of her. Her eyes were glistening, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were wet. Her hands were clutching the armrests of the wheelchair, her nails digging in. Her legs were bent in towards each other, appearing dead and lifeless.

"Fine." His tone was crisp. "Try not to fall next time."

He wheeled his chair back a few inches before turning it and heading out of the room. Cuddy kept her eyes on the empty doorway after he had gone. It wasn't until Jane touched her shoulder that she snapped back to attention.

"That wasn't so bad, Lisa," Jane said. "If it wasn't for Dr. House, I'm sure you could have stood on your own. We _are_ making progress."

"Yeah," Cuddy agreed distractedly.

Jane patted her hand. "You're improving each week." She knelt down in front of Cuddy's wheelchair. "I have faith that you will stand on your own by next week. Which means, in a few months, you should be walking again."

"Yeah," Cuddy replied for a second time, but she wasn't so sure.

* * *

House repeatedly knocked on Wilson's door. He wasn't planning on letting up until Wilson let him in. Finally, the door opened.

"How did I know it was you?" Wilson asked.

"Who else would be so charming?" House replied. "Move."

Wilson stepped back, opening the door wider. House wheeled himself in and Wilson closed the door behind him. He made his way over to his desk and sat behind it.

"Cuddy's always in physical therapy," House said, once he had parked himself across from Wilson's desk.

Wilson shrugged. "They want her to get better."

"She's even there now."

House wheeled himself back and maneuvered over to the door to Wilson's balcony. He looked out at the rain falling.

"Well, her time was moved on Tuesdays and Thursdays because of the availability of equipment," Wilson explained to House.

"So, she talks to you about her therapy?" House looked away from the rain and back at Wilson.

"When I ask," he replied.

"Do you go with her?" House asked.

"When she asks," Wilson answered. "She needs all the support she can get."

"Yeah," House agreed and turned back to the rain.

Wilson sized House up. "How are you doing with your therapy?"

"It'd be better if I could get this cast off." House still didn't look back.

"You've got to wait for that bone to heal first," Wilson told him. "Only a few more weeks or so." House didn't respond so Wilson went on. "How's the pain?"

"Fantastic." House's sarcasm shone through.

Speaking of pain, House took out his Vicodin bottle and popped a pill. Wilson eyed him up for a second time, watching as House placed the bottle back into his robe pocket.

"Don't they have you on pain medication?" Wilson asked.

"Yep," House answered and wheeled himself back to his former spot.

"Yet you're taking more?" Wilson raised his eyebrows.

"Nope." House shook his head.

Wilson narrowed his eyes. "House—"

"_James_," House cut him off.

"If they're giving you pain medication, you shouldn't be taking more," Wilson said.

"It was one pill." House frowned. "Give me a break. Besides, my legs, _both_ of them, still hurt even with the measly rations they give me."

Wilson watched him, unsure if he should believe him or not. He couldn't be sure of how much pain House was really in. He decided to drop it for now, but to keep on alert of House's self medicating.

"So, if Cuddy talks to you, did she tell you how her legs are doing?" House asked, taking the subject off of himself.

"Well, the injury to her back is healing," Wilson told him. "They're doing treatments to try and give her full feeling back in her legs."

"Her left side still bad?" House's gaze dropped as he tried to appear distracted by his cast.

"Yeah." Wilson nodded. "She has her good days and her bad days."

"Seems like there's more bad days," House replied, eyes still lowered.

"She'll be all right, House," Wilson said. "She just needs our support."

"Uh-huh," House agreed. "Right." He lifted his head and his eyes met Wilson's. "Well, Nurse Anne promised me a sponge bath so I really better go. Don't want to miss out on a happy ending because I was late."

Wilson held his friend's gaze for a moment before giving a short nod.

"See you later, House."

House wheeled his chair back and headed out of Wilson's office.

* * *

"Hey."

Cuddy looked to the doorway of her hospital room to see House wheeling himself inside. A frown crossed over her face as she glared at him.

"Get away from me," she told him and pushed the call button for the nurse.

"What is your problem?" House asked and stopped his chair.

"Leave me alone." Cuddy's voice grew in volume.

The nurse House had spoken to earlier entered the room. She looked past House to Cuddy.

"Yes, Dr. Cuddy?" she asked.

"I want Dr. House out of here," Cuddy said.

"Come on, Dr. House."

The nurse put her hands on the handles of his wheelchair. She began to pull him back, but House quickly grabbed his wheels, stopping himself.

"You don't get to tell me to leave," House directed his words to Cuddy.

House pushed forward hard with his wheels and the nurse let go, not wanting House to hurt himself. He wheeled over to the side of the hospital bed, Cuddy still glaring at him.

"And you don't get to butt in on my physical therapy," Cuddy added.

"There wasn't much to see," House replied darkly. "Unless you count you nearly greeting the floor with your face."

"Fuck you," Cuddy spat back.

The nurse approached House. "Dr. House, please. I will call security."

House glanced back at the nurse. "I'm not bothering anyone.

"You're bothering me!" Cuddy shouted. "Now, get out!"

"Okay," House wheeled his chair back, causing the nurse to move quickly out of the way. "Fine. Yeah, Cuddy, whatever."

"Come back when you stop being an asshole," she told him bitterly.

"Will do," House called over his shoulder and wheeled himself out of the room.

The nurse followed House out to make sure he was leaving for good. Cuddy fell back against her pillows and let out an annoyed sigh.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello, guys! Sorry it's a bit of a wait for the chapters. The end of the semester really sucks. Haha. I do deeply apologize though. I cannot wait until break.**

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"Dr. Cuddy, someone's here to see you."

Cuddy sat a little more upright in her hospital bed and set her magazine aside. She gave a nod to the nurse who was waiting expectantly for a response.

"Sure," Cuddy said.

The nurse left the room and an older gentleman entered. He had a full head of grey hair and was wearing a dress suit.

"Hello, Dr. Cuddy," the man greeted her. "I'm Ted McNulty."

"McNulty," Cuddy repeated and then the name clicked. "I'm sorry for your losses."

"Yes, well... I'm sorry for yours, too," he told her.

"Please, sit." Cuddy indicated the chair near the bed.

Ted crossed the room and seated himself in the chair that Cuddy had indicated. She pushed the button to raise her bed a little higher and then looked over at him.

"How are you?" Ted asked.

"I'm doing all right," Cuddy answered.

Ted drew in a breath, pausing. "My sons were good men. They weren't careless. They traveled a lot to different countries, sometimes flying themselves there with that plane. They liked to help people, Dr. Cuddy."

"It's a tragedy what happened," Cuddy replied.

"Yes," Ted agreed solemnly. "Not just for my boys, but for those at your hospital." He leaned forward in his chair. "I'd like to help contribute funds to rebuild and remodel what was damaged in honor of Jeff and Michael."

"Of course." Cuddy nodded. "Did you find out what happened with the plane? I know it was still being investigated."

"There was a malfunction with the engine," Ted explained. "The investigative team didn't recognize it at first, but it had something to do with some small part of the engine. But, I'm not all that familiar on the mechanics of it."

Cuddy nodded again, unsure as to what to say. Ted reached over and placed his hand on top of hers.

"I wanted to see you in person to extend my apologies again," he said.

Ted squeezed her hand gently and Cuddy gave him a small smile.

"You have nothing to apologize for," she told him. "It wasn't your fault."

He released her hand, nodding, and sat back in his chair.

"I'd like to think that. I knew they were going out and I wanted them to stay home that day. But, they insisted on taking two of their friends out and my boys knew what they were doing so I let them go."

"You couldn't have known what was going to happen."

"I still feel responsible." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "Here's a number you can reach me at. Let me know what I can contribute to and it's done."

"Thank you very much."

He gave her a tight smile. "Bye, Dr. Cuddy."

"Bye."

Cuddy watched the man exit. She looked down at the paper with his name and number scrawled on it. She reached over to her side table and set it there before picking her magazine back up. She tried to get back to her reading, but found herself unable to concentrate as she thought about the plane that had crashed into her hospital and the young men that had been inside.

* * *

House stopped his wheelchair outside of Wilson's office and opened the door. Wilson looked up from his desk as House wheeled himself in.

"I'm a bit busy right now, House," Wilson told him.

"Does it look like I care?" House raised his eyebrows.

Wilson knew the only way to get House to leave was to get right down to business. He set his hands on his desk and gave House his full attention.

"What's up?"

"I heard they're going to try to get Cuddy walking now," House said.

Wilson let out a sigh, tired by the fact that House often frequented his office only to talk about Cuddy, which often ended with an angry and brooding House.

"Yes, they are," Wilson confirmed House's statement.

"It hasn't even been two months yet," House replied. "I'm not even out of cast and she's walking?"

"They're just going to give it a try."

House frowned. "And it'll crush her when she can't do it."

"You don't know she can't." Wilson shook his head. "Her rehabilitation has been going well. Her left side's a bit of a problem, but she's working through it."

"Right," House agreed sarcastically. "When's she going home?"

Wilson paused and then shrugged slightly. "I don't know."

"She shouldn't still be here," House said. "She would be fine at home."

"It's her choice," Wilson told him.

"If she was any other patient, she'd be discharged with outpatient physical therapy," House replied.

"Well, she's not any other patient," Wilson pointed out, remaining on Cuddy's side.

"It must be nice having preferential treatment," House scoffed in return.

"What is your problem, House?" Wilson asked.

House shrugged, shaking his head slightly. "Nothing."

"Why does it matter so much to you?" Wilson prompted further.

"She's not being challenged here." House's tone turned bitter. "They do everything for her. I'm at home, I have a nurse, but I'm at home doing things. She certainly can be, too."

"It's her choice," Wilson repeated, firmer this time.

"But, it's the wrong choice," House spat back.

He shook his head as he directed his wheelchair back. Wilson tilted his head to the side tiredly and watched as House wheeled himself out of the room.

* * *

"Are you ready?" Jane asked as she locked eyes with Cuddy.

Cuddy drew in a breath. "Yes."

"Good." Jane smiled. "Your leg braces are on to help get you walking. We'll stand first and go on from there."

Jane took hold of Cuddy around the waist and helped to get her standing. Kevin held onto the handles of Cuddy's wheelchair, spotting her from behind in case she needed to sit. Todd, the man who often worked with House, stood alongside of the bars, providing another source of support.

"Now, hold on to the bars," Jane instructed. "Keep your balance. Straighten your back."

Cuddy clutched onto the bars on either side of her and Jane released her. Cuddy drew in a sharp breath as she straightened her back, the braces around her legs helping to give her the lower support she needed. She trembled slightly.

"I'm afraid I'm going to fall," she said.

"You're not going to fall," Jane assured her. "Keep your back straight."

Clutching tighter onto the bars, Cuddy obeyed. Jane placed her hands on Cuddy's hips in order to steady her and Cuddy removed her hands from the bars. Once Jane was sure she was balanced, she let go of Cuddy, who remained standing on her own.

"See?" Jane raised her eyebrows. "You've got yourself standing."

"With braces," she added.

"It's an excellent start," Todd replied.

"Good job, Doctor Cuddy," Kevin commented.

"You ready to walk now?" Jane asked.

Cuddy drew in a breath. "I can try."

"All right." Jane gave her a reassuring smile. "Hold onto the rails. We'll start with your right side, okay?"

Cuddy quickly clutched the rails, her safety net. She gave a nod to Jane when she was ready.

Jane knelt down in front of Cuddy, one hand going above her knee and the other going below on her right leg.

"Put your weight on your left side," Jane instructed and Cuddy obeyed. "Very good. Okay. And we bend at the knee and move forward."

Jane helped to bend Cuddy's right leg and move it forward, showing Cuddy the mechanics of walking again. Cuddy wished she could do it on her own, but her legs felt weak and she was unsure, even with the braces, that she could perform this action on her own.

"Now, you've got to straighten your right leg, put the weight on your right side." Jane waited as Cuddy did so. "Good. Great. And we lift with the left leg, bending the knee and down."

Jane repeated the step, with the left leg this time, which Cuddy felt was a bit harder than with the right. She knew her left leg was worse off and it bothered her when she awoke some mornings only to find that her left leg had minimal feeling.

"Distribute your weight, Lisa." Jane smiled as Cuddy obliged. "There. And you're walking."

"But, you're doing all the work," Cuddy replied.

"Don't worry, you'll be doing the work soon enough." Jane stood up. "We're going to be working you hard and then you'll be doing this on your own. Eventually with no leg braces at all."

"Do I really need them now?" Cuddy asked.

"Yes, for now." Jane nodded, recalling how upset Cuddy had become when leg braces were brought into her physical therapy. "But, see how much easier it is to stand and keep your balance?"

"You really are doing some fantastic work," Kevin added.

"And one day, you won't need them," Jane said. "One step at a time and we'll get there. All right?"

Cuddy nodded. "All right."

* * *

House let out a sigh. He had parked himself outside of Cuddy's hospital room hours ago and still hadn't decided on whether he wanted to enter or not. He stopped by a few times since she yelled at him to leave her hospital room, but she always refused to talk to him and pressed the call button for a nurse.

He was surprised that none of the nurses currently on duty had asked him to leave already. Looking over at the blinds covering any means of seeing inside, House decided to go in. He wheeled himself into her room and stopped near the doorway.

"Hey," he said.

Cuddy was in the hospital bed, her eyes toward the window. She turned her head and looked over at him.

"Go away," she replied, almost tiredly.

"You haven't talked to me in a week and a half," he told her.

House wheeled himself further inside. Getting any sort of response gave him some hope that she might continue talking with him.

"How did walking go?" he asked.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Came to mock me?"

"No." He shook his head slightly. "It didn't go well?"

"I'm using leg braces and I have yet to try to walk on my own," Cuddy told him. "Which might be a miracle in itself at this point in time."

"Sorry," he said.

Cuddy frowned. "You are not. You're glad. You want me to be stuck in a wheelchair like you."

"Yeah, because that makes sense." House replied sarcastically.

Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him, not pleased. "You don't like to suffer alone, House. We both know that."

"What is your problem?" House asked her seriously, eyes locked with hers.

"You," she answered, letting her eyes remained locked with his.

"Oh, yeah." House nodded. "Right, Cuddy."

"Did you ever think, for maybe a second, that there are reasons I don't want you here?" she said. "That there are reasons I don't want you at my physical therapy?" He remained silent. "I hate what I am now."

"What are you?" She didn't respond this time. "Why don't you go home? You're certainly capable to. You'd have more independence—"

"I'd need a nurse," she cut him off harshly.

"For a little while." House wheeled himself closer to her bed, wanting to get his point across. "You shouldn't stay here. It's not healthy."

"Ha," Cuddy scoffed. "You're the one to lecture about healthy habits."

"At least I sleep in my own bed," he replied.

"You have a nurse," she pointed out.

"Right," he agreed. "Until I get this awful piece of plaster off and limp on my own once more."

"And then your nurse will leave," Cuddy said. "Mine might not. She'd think she'd be staying for a few months, end up there for years when I can't walk."

House shook his head. "You don't know that's going to happen."

"My legs aren't doing what they should be doing," Cuddy angrily replied. "Yeah, I can move my toes, my feet, but that's just parlor tricks. It means nothing when I can't move my damn legs on my own."

"Yet," he added.

Cuddy frowned at him. "Don't give me that bullshit. I _want_ to walk. I _want_ to be okay."

He shrugged. "You can't always get—"

"Stop," she cut him off, her eyes filling with tears. "House... I don't want _this_."

"I know," he said quietly.

Cuddy sniffed back her tears and covered her eyes with her left hand. House reached out for her and placed his hand on her right one. Her tears spilled over before she could contain them. She quickly wiped them away.

"You don't have to do that," he told her.

She looked over at him. "What?"

"You are too strong for your own good sometimes, Cuddy."

House gave her hand a quick squeeze before releasing it. He wheeled himself back and then towards the door. Cuddy's eyes followed him, slightly confused by House's words. Since the crash happened, she hadn't felt the least bit strong and she found it odd, yet somewhat heartening, that House still considered her to be.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey, guys. Sorry about the lack of update. Not only did I have finals, but I got a pretty bad cold, too. So, that pretty much wiped me out for a few days. But, here is a new chapter and I will try my hardest to make sure the next wait isn't as long.**

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House let out a sigh. He had a feeling this day in physical therapy was going to leave him well beyond tired and sore. He located his Vicodin stashes around his house over the past week and hoped he would find better ways to get more before he went through his stash.

The pain was worse, he kept telling himself. That was why he needed the pills. They gave him medication to deal with his pain, but it wasn't enough. He was still in pain, he could still remember everything. And he needed the pain to stop, he needed his thinking to stop.

As he wheeled himself into physical therapy, he spotted Cuddy between the parallel bars. He stopped his chair, wondering if he should reschedule his time. Of course, Cuddy wasn't as angry with him as before, but he still couldn't forget the way she had yelled at him the last time he had been there during her physical therapy.

Todd approached House, giving him a smile.

"Good afternoon, Doctor House. Ready to work?"

House looked away from Cuddy and made eye contact with Todd.

"Yeah," House said. "Sure."

"We'll be working over here."

Todd stepped behind House and began to push him to their area. House glanced over at Cuddy and noticed she was watching him. They made brief eye contact before Cuddy looked away. But, she didn't yell and House figured that was plus. He really didn't want to make her angry. He wasn't there to hurt her.

"Here we are."

After Todd parked House at their station, House again glanced toward Cuddy. She was standing between the bars, leg braces on, and trying to walk on her own. He noted that she wasn't doing too poorly. At least she was standing on her own.

"Dr. House."

House brought his attention back to Todd.

"She's doing well," Todd told House, referring to Cuddy. "She's making progress."

"Yeah," House agreed and lowered his gaze as he cleared his throat.

"We're going to heat those muscles of yours, do a bit of massage, and a stretch to get started," Todd informed House. "I'll be right back with the supplies."

House nodded in response and Todd left. He looked over at Cuddy, watching her. She made one full step with her right side, but when she tried to walk with her left, her legs began to give. Jane instructed her to sit back in her wheelchair before fixing Cuddy's leg braces.

As Todd approached, House tore his eyes away from Cuddy and refused to look back over at her for the rest of his physical therapy.

* * *

Wilson tapped gently on the glass to House's office door. House looked up from his desk and focused on Wilson, who let himself in.

"I'm surprised you didn't go home after physical therapy," Wilson said as he let the door close behind him. "It's almost seven."

"I'm aware," House snapped before looking back at the book on his desk.

Wilson made his way toward House's desk. "Patient worse?"

"No, he's all better and discharged," House replied sarcastically, his eyes still on the book.

"Are you all right, House?" Wilson asked as he sat in the chair in front of House's desk.

"Peachy keen."

Wilson frowned in response. "Do you want me to grab you dinner or something?"

"No," House replied tiredly, dropping his sarcasm. "I'm heading out soon."

"How did your physical therapy go?" Wilson asked.

"Still in the wheelchair."

Wilson gave a slight nod. "Recovery doesn't happen overnight."

"Don't I know it."

House dumped a Vicodin into his hand and popped it into his mouth. Wilson watched his actions, waiting for House to make eye contact, but he didn't.

"You're eating those like mints," Wilson commented.

House finally looked up at Wilson. "They are mints."

Wilson narrowed his eyes at his friend. "That was definitely Vicodin."

"You're mistaken," House replied with an innocent shrug.

"House, I think you're taking more Vicodin than you need," Wilson accused.

"And I think you're trying to make a big deal out of nothing because you need drama in your life," House told him and leaned back in his chair.

Wilson merely stared at House for a moment before asking, "what?"

"Cuddy and I are in recovery, in physical therapy, while you have nothing," House said simply.

"What are you going on about?" Wilson's eyebrows drew together. "Are you saying I wish I was injured like you?"

"You wish you had something eventful going on in your life."

"Well, I don't wish the roof collapsed in on me."

"You say that."

"You're deflecting." Wilson stood to his feet. "You really do have a problem."

"Okay." House shrugged.

Wilson raised a hand, not wanting to deal with this anymore. He shook his head and headed for the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow, House."

Wilson left House's office and headed for the elevators. House let out a sigh and popped the lid open on his Vicodin bottle.

* * *

Wilson opened the door to Cuddy's office and peeked his head in.

"Can I see you a moment?" he asked.

"What do you need?" Cuddy replied and set her pen down on her desk.

Wilson entered and closed the door behind him. He approached her desk and Cuddy could tell he seemed upset about something.

"It's about House," Wilson said, recalling his conversation with House from the night before.

Cuddy raised her eyebrows. "What about House?"

"He's taking way too many painkillers." Wilson sat across from her desk. "I'm worried about him."

"And what am I suppose to do about that?" Her words came off a little too bitter.

"Talk to him," Wilson offered. "I tried, but he won't listen to me. I really think this has to do with you."

Cuddy shook her head, already dismissing the notion. "I don't understand."

"I think he feels bad that you're like him," Wilson told her. "Of course, he tried to twist that around by including me in his little tirade, but I think he's feeling guilty, Cuddy."

"He has no reason to feel that way," Cuddy replied.

Wilson shrugged slightly. "It's just a thought."

"Yeah." Cuddy nodded. "I'll look into it and see what I can do."

"How are you doing?" Wilson asked, glad to be changing the subject. He didn't like ratting out House like this, especially since he wasn't exactly sure why House was doing it, nor did he know how to fix it.

"I'm fine," Cuddy answered.

"And physical therapy?" Wilson raised his eyebrows.

"It's going well enough," she told him.

"I'm glad to hear that, Lisa." Wilson smiled at her.

"Yeah." She returned the smile. "Thanks."

"Well, I've got a meeting to get to, so I'll see you later." Wilson stood to his feet. "Lunch today?"

"Sure." Cuddy nodded. "Sounds great."

"All right." Wilson began for the door. "See you then."

"Yeah," Cuddy agreed. "Bye."

She watched him leave her office and her thoughts immediately went to House. As much as she wanted to get to the truth of the matter, she really wanted to forget it as well. She leaned back in her chair and took in a deep breath before getting back into her work and forgetting about House.

* * *

"Dr. Cuddy—"

"Please, call me Lisa."

The thirty two year old nurse gave a Cuddy a smile. Cuddy had taken House's advice and had hired a nurse to help her at home. It took her a few days to find the right one. Sally was a kind woman, who was quiet and very helpful.

"Right." Sally gave a short nod. "Sorry. Lisa, do you want me put your breakfast items on the counter for you for tomorrow?"

"Yeah, that'd be great." Cuddy wheeled her chair back, allowing Sally room to move around her to get to the kitchen cabinets.

"I could always come to help you," Sally offered for the third time that night.

"No, no," Cuddy refused. "I can get out of bed just fine with the bars and I could just use your help getting to work. That's all."

"Are you sure?" Sally asked as she pulled out a bowl from the cabinet. "I worry sometimes about you."

"I'll be fine, Sally," Cuddy assured her. "If I have a problem, I can always call you, right?"

"Yes, of course." Sally nodded. "You know that."

"I do." Cuddy gave her a smile. "And I really appreciate it. But, I want to try to be more independent. I can still use you at night, but I want to ween you off mornings. I'll be fine tomorrow."

"All right," Sally replied. "I'll just finish up getting your breakfast items from the cabinets."

"Thank you," Cuddy said.

The phone rang and Sally took a step towards the dining room. She stopped, however, and looked to Cuddy.

"Want me to get that?"

"No, I got it."

Cuddy wheeled herself from the kitchen as the phone continued to ring. She made it through the dining room, across the hall, and into the living room. She picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hey." It was House.

"Hi." Cuddy paused for a moment. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," he answered gruffly.

"So..." Cuddy bit her bottom lip. "What do you want?"

"Nothing," he told her simply.

Cuddy frowned. "You never call me without a reason, House. What do you want?"

"Just felt like calling," he replied.

"Are you drunk?" she asked him.

"Do I sound drunk?" he snapped.

"Sort of," she answered honestly. His tone was dark and slower than usual.

"I'm not," he said. "Never mind. Goodnight, Cuddy."

"House, wait." She suddenly grew concerned. "Is everything okay?"

"It's fine, Cuddy."

He hung up the phone. She wanted to believe his words. She wanted to believe he was, in fact, fine. Cuddy gently placed the receiver back on the console and decided to let it go.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey, guys! Here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!!!**

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Wilson watched as House limped off the elevator. Staring at his friend in surprise, Wilson let the elevator go on without him and stepped alongside of House instead.

"You're walking," Wilson said.

"I'm walking," House agreed, taking another solid, but painful step.

"I'm shocked," Wilson added.

House stopped near his conference room door and faced Wilson.

"They gave me this stupid cane for a while." House held up the four pronged cane that would give him better balance.

"I can't believe you're walking already," Wilson told him. "It's only been a few weeks since you got that cast off."

"Yeah," House replied. "I'm bionic."

"Or can't feel the pain." Wilson raised his eyebrows.

"Don't worry." House leaned closer to his friend, eyes darkened. "I still feel the pain."

With that, he entered into the conference room and his team watched as he headed toward the white board. Before any of them could comment on his walking, House picked up the marker and began.

"What have we got?"

His team stared at him a moment before Chase spoke up.

"Nothing."

"Oh," House responded. He capped the marker and pulled out his Vicodin bottle. He popped the lid off.

"Are you all right, House?" Foreman asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

"I'm fine." He popped three pills into his mouth.

"House," Cameron scolded with a frown on her face. "Don't you think that's a little excessive?"

"No," he replied brightly. "I'll be in my office."

House limped his way into his office. He crossed to his desk and moved around it to sit in his chair. He leaned back as his eyes closed, letting his new round of drugs kick in.

"We should say something to Cuddy," Cameron spoke up, her tone mixed with concern and disgust at House's recent behaviors.

"He'd be pissed," Chase told her, eyeing up House.

"Well, he shouldn't be practicing medicine like _that_," Cameron pointed out, her eyes settling back on House, whose mouth was now wide open as his feet were propped up on his desk.

"I agree." Foreman focused his gaze on House as well.

"Don't worry." Cameron swiveled her chair to face the other two. "I'll do it."

* * *

"You're doing great, Lisa," Jane encouraged. "That's right."

Cuddy kept her focus ahead, breathing heavily as she clutched tightly onto the parallel bars. She lifted her right foot, the braces helping to keep her steady, and planted it in front of her.

Jane took a step back, hands on either side of Cuddy, spotting her. Kevin was following from behind with the wheelchair.

"You've got this down, Dr. Cuddy," Kevin told her.

"Great." Jane nodded and gave Cuddy a smile. "One more step with the left."

Cuddy scrunched her face up. She was tired and she hated her left side. With much determination, she lifted her left foot just enough to swing it forward to the ground. She let out a sigh of relief at accomplishing the task.

"All right," Jane said. "Sit." Jane waited for Cuddy to do so before asking, "how did that feel?"

"Good," Cuddy told her.

"It felt good?" Jane locked eyes with Cuddy, making sure she was getting the truth.

"Yeah," Cuddy answered, nodding.

"How about the braces?" Jane knelt down and tinkered with them. "Were they all right?"

"Yeah, they're fine," Cuddy replied. "I can't wait to get them off."

Jane looked up at Cuddy before standing. "It won't be too long until we can start to work without them. You're really making progress."

"Thanks." Cuddy smiled.

"Kevin's going to get you some water and then we'll work on strengthening those leg muscles of yours," Jane said. "How does that sound?"

"Tiring."

Jane chuckled and patted Cuddy on the shoulder. "You bet."

* * *

Cameron knocked almost hesitantly on the door to Cuddy's office. Cuddy lifted her eyes to the door and waved Cameron in. Cameron made sure the door was closed behind her before she crossed the room.

"Yes, Dr. Cameron?" Cuddy asked.

"I need to talk to you about something," Cameron told her.

"Sure." Cuddy gave a slight nod. "Sit down."

Cameron sat across from Cuddy's desk. Cuddy waited for her to go on, but Cameron remained silent. She didn't want to betray House, but she knew it wasn't safe for him to be high at work.

"Well?" Cuddy prompted.

"This isn't easy." Cameron paused a moment. "It has to do with House." She paused for a second time. "It's just... he's been taking quite a lot of Vicodin since the collapse and I've been worried about him and his job performance."

"Uh-huh." Cuddy nodded, encouraging her to go on.

"I wouldn't say anything unless I really thought he had a problem and... I think he has a problem."

"You were right to tell me." Cuddy wanted to assure Cameron that it _was_ the right thing to do since she still seemed a bit unsure. "I'll take care of it."

Cameron nodded and stood up, wondering if it really could be that easy. She figured that maybe Cuddy already had suspicions about House's behavior. Cameron exchanged an uneasy smile with Cuddy before leaving the office.

Once the door was closed, Cuddy drew in a breath. She knew this issue with House wasn't going to get any better on its own. She picked up her phone and dialed for his office line.

* * *

House stepped into Cuddy's office and swung the door closed behind him. Cuddy wheeled herself around her desk and stopped in front of it. House's eyes remained on her.

"You bellowed?" he asked.

"I've been getting reports," Cuddy told him.

"About?" House prompted and leaned heavily on his cane.

"Your drug habit," she cut to the chase.

"What are you talking about?"

He didn't give even the slightest pause before speaking, playing dumb so well that if Cuddy didn't know any better, she would be sure _she_ was the one mistaken. However, she did know better and so she narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're getting your hands on more Vicodin. You're taking more than you should."

House shook his head. "Wilson doesn't know what he's talking about."

"I've heard it from several sources," Cuddy said.

He sized her up, then, unsure if she was trying to trick him.

"Who else?"

"I can't tell you that," she replied.

"All right." House shrugged and drew in a breath. "So, what do you want?"

"I want to know if it's true." She folded her arms over her chest.

"Nope," he told her simply.

Her eyes narrowed once again. "Greg."

House shrugged. "I've got pain, Cuddy. As do you."

"I've been told that after the accident, you were constantly trying to get your pain medication increased."

Cuddy sized him up. Her statement wasn't entirely true. She was sure he had tried to get his medication upped through slight rumors she happened to overhear, but she was never told directly. He went for it though and now she knew it was true.

"Because I was in _pain_," he defended himself.

"I'm under the impression it's more than that," she pressed further with the conversation, thinking back to the words she had exchanged with Wilson weeks ago.

"Well, you're wrong," House said. "I'm taking the amount of drugs I need to manage pain. No more."

"Is your pain that bad, House, because you're taking a hell of a lot of drugs," she challenged him.

"I don't need this."

House turned and limped heavily toward her office door. He had the door open when she spoke up.

"You feel guilty." He stopped, so she continued. "And you're trying to kill that guilt with painkillers."

He faced her and stepped back into her office, tossing the door closed behind him. She couldn't read the expression on his face. It wasn't angry and it wasn't necessarily upset. It was somewhat blank and possibly cold.

"Why the hell would I be guilty, Cuddy?" House asked her, holding back a sigh.

Cuddy wheeled herself a bit closer to him. "You're feeling the same guilt I felt when I agreed with Stacy to do your surger–"

"It's not the same," he quickly cut her off. Cuddy thought he was going to deny all of it, but then he added, "I've got a limp, you can't walk. There's a difference."

There it was and Wilson was right as he usual. Cuddy wheeled herself even closer to House, feeling sympathy for him.

"I can't walk _yet_," she clarified. "I will walk again."

"Now?" He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Well..." She frowned and then shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. If I had–"

"Let's see it, then."

House hurriedly limped to her chair and put her brakes on. She stared at him, confused and curious as to whether he was serious or not.

"What?" she asked him, wanting to know what he was doing.

"Let's see you walk."

House moved her foot pedals out of the way and let his cane fall to the floor. He grounded himself and wrapped his arms around her waist. She continued to stare in stunned disbelief that he was serious about this.

"You said you can do it right now," he reminded her.

"House, let go of me." Cuddy placed her hands on his shoulders, trying to push him off.

"Come on, Cuddy."

He only held onto her tighter as she struggled. House used what strength he could manage and pulled her to her feet, almost toppling backwards. His thigh was about to buckle and his freshly healed leg was burning with pain, but he remained standing and holding Cuddy up.

"Walk," House commanded, his face growing red from his pain. "Go on."

"Stop it." Cuddy tried to keep herself balanced, but House had her at a strange angle. "You know I can't—"

"That's right," he snapped. "You can't."

She shut her mouth then, his words sinking in and hurting. Color began to crawl up her chest, over her neck, and to her cheeks.

"Let go of me."

House set her back down in the wheelchair, beginning to feel shame for his own actions. He immediately reached for his cane and used it to limp as fast as he could from her office, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Cuddy sat in her wheelchair near the end of the bed. She could hear Sally in the kitchen, putting the dishes away. With a sigh, Cuddy tossed the book she was trying to read onto her bed. She wheeled herself closer to the bed.

Since her encounter with House earlier, she couldn't get him out of her mind. He had insulted her, embarrassed her, only to get the heat off of himself. It made her angry, but also gave her a sense of determination.

Cuddy pulled the levers on either side of her wheelchair to unlock the foot rests. She pushed them back out of the way and put her brakes on. Clutching tightly onto the armrests, Cuddy forced herself to stand.

She quickly reached for her bed to help keep her standing. She was leaning heavily against it, her legs ready to buckle, but she clenched her teeth and found her strength to remain standing.

Cuddy wanted to walk. She wanted to prove House wrong, to be able to show him that she was strong and better. Even though she knew she couldn't be fixed overnight nor just by wishing it, she still wanted to try.

Still leaning heavily against the bed, Cuddy placed more weight on her left side as she attempted to lift her right leg. She slid it along the floor a few inches before distributing her weight evenly. She drew in her breath and put more weight on her right side, wanting to move her left foot now.

However, her legs began to shake, not being able to support her anymore. Letting out a cry, Cuddy crumpled to the floor, managing to knock her wheelchair over in the process. She let out a frustrated groan at her failure.

Sally entered into the bedroom and hurried to Cuddy's side.

"Dr. Cuddy."

She set Cuddy's wheelchair upright before helping Cuddy back into the chair. Once Cuddy was settled, Sally put the foot rests back into place.

"Are you all right?" Sally asked her.

"I'm fine," Cuddy told her.

"Did you need something?" Sally looked down at Cuddy, confused as to why and how she ended up on the floor.

Cuddy shook her head. "No, no."

"What were you doing?" Sally was still concerned.

"Nothing," she quickly replied. "You can finish whatever it was you were doing."

Cuddy reached around Sally for her book and opened it to her prior place. Sally lingered for a moment before heading out of the room. Cuddy stared down at the words on the page, but she couldn't focus on them. She let out an aggravated sigh and snapped the book shut.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey, guys! I just wanted to let you know I'm leaving for vacation tomorrow so I popped this sucker out before I go. I won't be back until the 11th and I don't know if I'll get internet, so the fic will be updated when I get a chance. Sorry for the wait!**

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House removed himself from where he was leaning against the wall. He had been waiting for her for over an hour and was finally glad to see some results. Cuddy was wheeling herself toward the elevators. House stepped in her way.

"Good afternoon," he greeted.

She glared up at him, her wheelchair at a stop. "Get out of my way, House."

"Heard you've been bitchy lately," he said and gave a tap to the ground with his cane.

"Get out of my way," she repeated with more force this time.

"No," he replied simply, keeping his ground.

Cuddy backed up her wheelchair and turned it in an attempt to maneuver around him. House took a sidestep right back into her way. Cuddy stopped and glared at him again.

"I hate you," her words weren't as biting as they could have been, but she still meant them nonetheless.

"I realized something," House told her, completely ignoring her statement.

"Did you?" Cuddy humored him.

He locked eyes with her. "This was your fault."

"Yeah?" She raised her eyebrows, still humoring him.

"You're the one who took me up there for a drug test," House went on. "I wouldn't have needed one if I didn't need pain medication. And I wouldn't need pain medication if it wasn't for _your_ actions that resulted in this." He indicated his thigh. "So, this is all your fault."

Cuddy merely stared up at him. "You done now?"

Without waiting for an answer, she started to wheel herself around him. House frowned, not appreciating being ignored. He grabbed onto one of her wheels, stopping her, and put the brake on. He leaned to the other side of her and put the other brake on as well.

"That's it then?" He wanted her to argue with him, to fight him.

Cuddy pulled both her brakes off, trying to pay him no mind.

"That's all you have to say?" he asked.

Letting out an irritated sigh, Cuddy looked up at him.

"What do you want me to say, House? You felt some sort of emotion, mistook it for guilt, and made me feel like shit. Then, you realized that you were, in fact, wrong about your guilty feelings, so now I feel like shit and it's all my fault. What do you want me to say?"

House realized he had no response to her small tirade, so he took a step back, allowing her room to go. Cuddy took the opportunity and sped off toward the elevators, going as fast as her arms could move her.

* * *

There was a knock on Wilson's office door. He looked up from the paperwork on his desk as he tried to guess who it could be.

"Come in," he called out.

The door opened and House limped inside. Wilson was surprised considering House usually barged right in without ever bothering to knock.

After he closed the door, House made his way over to Wilson's couch and took a seat. He looked toward the balcony door, watching the rain fall heavily outside.

"So..." Wilson tried to decide how to start this since House was giving him nothing. "What's up?"

"If you pushed someone in front of a bus and they were injured, but lived, what would you do?" House directed his question to the balcony.

"What do you mean, what would I do?" Wilson stared at his friend, confused.

House looked over to Wilson. "Just... what would you do?"

Wilson raised his eyebrows. "Did _you_ push someone in front of a bus?"

"Yeah," House answered sarcastically, making a face. "Right outside the hospital."

Shaking his head, House stood to his feet and made his way to the door. Wilson's gaze followed him.

"Wait a second." Wilson stood to his feet. "Do you want to talk about something, House?"

"Nope." House pulled open the office door.

"No, wait," Wilson said as he made his way around the desk. "Say I did push someone in front of a bus. What do you want to know? What'd I do after? How I'd feel?"

Wilson knew this had to do with Cuddy, but he wasn't sure what kind of answer House was looking for. He wanted to give him the right answer, to help with whatever was plaguing his mind at the moment.

House's eyes met Wilson's. "What would you do if you can't carry on as normal?"

"I'd get some help so I would be able to carry on as normal," Wilson told him.

"I knew you'd say that," House replied and walked out of Wilson's office.

* * *

Cuddy wheeled herself to her front door. She turned the door knob and moved herself back before opening the door. House stood there, leaning in the doorway. His clothes were disheveled, his hair matted.

A look of concern immediately crossed over Cuddy's face, all of her previous anger forgotten.

"House, are you okay?"

He nodded for a brief moment before leaning over the side of the porch and throwing up. Cuddy wheeled herself closer to the doorway.

"House." She tried to get his attention, but he didn't look up. "I'm calling an ambulance."

"You're overreacting," he called out to her, still bent over the side of the porch.

"How did you get here?" Cuddy asked him.

"Does it matter?" House replied.

"You didn't drive, did you?"

Cuddy peered outside, but she didn't see any sign of a motorcycle or car. She looked over at House to see him staring at her.

"You going to let me in?" he said.

"I'm calling an ambulance," she told him.

"I'm fine." He gave a short nod. "Just... hold on."

House turned his head and threw up again over the side of her porch. Cuddy wheeled herself back into her home. She made her way into the living room and to the phone. She picked it up and debated calling Wilson first, but then decided she'd call him at the hospital.

Cuddy went to dial, but House yanked the phone from her.

"Hey." She reached for the phone, but House held it from her grasp.

"I don't need an ambulance," he insisted.

Cuddy raised her eyebrows at him. "You done throwing up now?"

"Yes," House answered. "I'm fine. Stomach bug."

"Or an overdose," Cuddy replied.

House unplugged the phone and threw it to the couch. He limped around her coffee table and lowered himself to the floor. Cuddy stared at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Resting," he told her before spreading himself out on his back.

"You could have sat on the couch," she said.

Cuddy wheeled herself closer to him. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing in and out to stave away any more nausea.

Peering down at House, Cuddy frowned and put her brakes on. She moved her foot pedals out of the way and scooted to the edge of her seat. She slid from her wheelchair, her chair pressing against the coffee table. Once on the floor, Cuddy used her arms to help lift and maneuver herself closer to House.

After a minute, she was at his side. She fell back against the floor so that she was lying next to him. House turned his head towards her and opened his eyes.

"How did you get on the floor?" he asked.

Cuddy's eyebrows drew together. "What's going on, House? Is this what it comes down to? Puking on my porch and lying on my living room floor?"

"I was in the neighborhood," he told her gruffly.

"Did you walk?"

"Cuddy, shut up."

House was tired of her searching him for answers. He now understood what it felt like to be on the other side of his tirade of finding the truth. He closed his eyes again.

Cuddy propped herself up onto her elbows, looking him over.

"You're sick, House. You need help."

"Please shut up."

"You came for a reason," Cuddy pointed out. "I didn't ask you to."

"I don't know how I got here," House replied. "I'm just here."

"How high are you?" Cuddy asked him.

House ignored her. Cuddy continued to stare at him, waiting for an answer.

"House."

Still, he ignored her. He was hoping she would leave him alone already. Or that he could articulate exactly why he was here.

"Do you want me to get you anything?" Cuddy said.

"You can't get back in your wheelchair," he replied.

"I can if I try," she told him.

"No, I don't want anything." He fell quiet for a moment before adding, "this isn't my fault. I told you that."

"You did," she agreed. "But, you still feel guilty."

He hated that she was right. And he hated even more that she knew she was right. Cuddy rested back down beside him.

"It's going to be okay," she assured him after several minutes of silence.

Cuddy placed her hand on his arm and patted it a few times before sliding it down to his hand. She interlocked her fingers with his.

"You don't have to do this to yourself," her volume lowered, a slight tiredness in her tone.

"Well, if you tell me how to stop feeling, I won't," the words spilled out of him before he could stop them.

House cursed himself, wishing he hadn't spoke, wishing he hadn't bothered to show up on her doorstep in the first place. Cuddy kept quiet beside him, surprised by his honesty and not quite sure as to what to say to help him.

She turned herself toward House and leaned closer to him. She placed a soft kiss on his stubbled cheek before resting back down.

"I don't blame you," she told him. "It wasn't your fault. You're punishing yourself for no reason. You didn't put me in a wheelchair."

House opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. He wanted to believe her, but he felt like it was too easy to place blame on something, anything, else. If he hadn't caused so much trouble and pissed in the cup like an average person, then they would have been out of there before the plane crashed.

"You didn't know," Cuddy added and House thought for a second that she actually read his mind.

"I've got a lot of pain, Cuddy," House said, shaking off his thoughts. "The damn plane crash caused my thigh to hurt almost as much as it did after the surgery." He was lying to her. Sure, his thigh did hurt a bit more, but it wasn't as bad as he was claiming it was. "I've just got a lot of pain."

"Yeah, House," she agreed, going along with him even though she saw through his act. "You do."

He closed his eyes, feeling himself growing tired. Cuddy glanced over at him before forcing herself to sit up. Using the strength in her arms, she scooted herself close enough to the couch to grab the blanket that was hanging off of it.

She scooted herself back to her former place and put the blanket over herself and House. Cuddy rested down on her back and found House's hand again under the blanket. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. She planned on staying there with him for a little while, but she soon drifted off to sleep.

* * *

"Doctor Cuddy. I mean, Lisa."

Cuddy stirred awake and watched as Sally came rushing to her side. Sally knelt beside her and helped her to sit up. The previous night flashed through Cuddy's mind and she quickly looked to her left, only to see the space empty. She wondered where House had gone.

"What happened?" Sally asked, concerned. "Why were you sleeping on the floor? Did you fall?"

"No." Cuddy shook her head. "No, I didn't."

Sally helped Cuddy back into her wheelchair. Cuddy groaned slightly, feeling the ache in her back from sleeping on the floor.

"So, what happened, then?" Sally again asked once Cuddy was back in the chair with her foot pedals in place.

"It was," Cuddy paused, "nothing. It was nothing."

She wheeled herself from the living room, wondering if she'd find House somewhere else. Sally followed after her as she made her way through the living room and into the kitchen.

"Well, you overslept," Sally told her. "I just came to take you to work, but you need to get changed. Did you want to shower?"

"No," Cuddy answered, distracted, as she made her way back into the hallway after not finding House.

She glanced into the bathroom as she passed it on her way to the bedroom. Cuddy entered into the bedroom and frowned as she saw it was empty. She began around the bed.

"Do you want me to help you dress?" Sally said from the doorway.

Cuddy wheeled herself to the bathroom within her bedroom, but found that it, too, was empty. She let out a sigh.

"Lisa, what are you looking for?"

Sally stared at Cuddy, a confused expression on her face. Cuddy met Sally's gaze and shook her head.

"Nothing," she told her. "I'm not looking for anything."


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey, everyone! Thanks so much for the comments on the last chapter. I had a lot of fun on my vacation and hope the wait wasn't too long for this chapter! Enjoy.**

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"Dr. Cuddy?"

Cuddy looked up from her place at the conference table. She realized Knott, Darling, and Federicks were all staring at her. Her eyebrows drew together.

"Hm?"

"I said I think by the end of this year, we'll be able to afford the new x-ray machines despite the remodeling going on now," Fredericks repeated his previous words.

"Uh-huh," Cuddy replied, a bit apprehensively because she realized she had tuned out the second half of his sentence.

"Are you okay?" Federicks asked her.

"Yeah." Cuddy nodded. "I'm fine."

"You seem distracted," Knott added.

"No, I, uh..." she trailed off, tired of this charade. There was a lot on her mind right now and she wasn't okay. She forced a smile on her face. "Do you think we could continue this next week?"

"Next week?" Darling repeated.

"Yes," Cuddy replied. "If it's not a problem."

"Well, no." Darling began writing on his notepad. "I guess that's fine."

"Yeah, sure." Federicks agreed.

"Okay." Cuddy gave a short nod. "Thanks. And I'm really sorry about this. There's just a lot happening right now..."

"That's understandable," Federicks said.

Cuddy drew in a breath and wheeled herself back. Fredericks stood from the table and hurried to the door, opening it for her. She wheeled herself out of the room and headed for the elevators.

* * *

When she got off the elevator, Cuddy couldn't help, but feel somewhat hopeful, even though that feeling was intermixed with anxiety. She came closer to House's office, needing to see him in there, but as she made it past the bunched up blinds, she saw that his office was empty.

A frown crossing over her face, Cuddy wheeled herself to the conference room. Chase quickly stood from his chair and opened the door for her. She remained outside the room however.

"Where's House?" she asked the team, taking a look at Foreman and Cameron.

"He hasn't come in," Cameron told her.

"Has anyone been in touch with him?" Cuddy said.

"We left him messages, but he hasn't called back," Chase replied.

Cuddy drew in a breath and nodded. "Thanks."

She wheeled herself back and headed toward Wilson's office. She didn't know where House was, his team didn't know where he was, and she was just praying that Wilson did. It was getting to the point where she planning to leave work to go find him.

Cuddy knocked on the door and then waited. The door opened and Wilson looked down at her.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Have you talked to House?" Cuddy immediately cut to the chase.

"No," Wilson answered. "Has he come in yet?"

"No." Cuddy shook her head slightly. "I'm worried. After last night... I just... I'm really worried, James."

"Do you want me to go to his house?" Wilson offered, raising his eyebrows.

"Would you?" Cuddy replied.

"I'll run over quick and let you know," Wilson told her.

"Thank you." Cuddy let out a sigh of relief.

"It's not a problem." Wilson gave a short nod. "I'm worried, too."

* * *

House had been staring at the wall for longer than he could remember. He had fallen asleep at her house, but when he awoke only a short time later and saw where he was, he realized he couldn't continue to stay. He couldn't bear to still be there in the morning.

Once he arrived home, he suddenly had no want for sleep. He felt tired, but he didn't want to sleep. Instead, he sat on his couch and stared at the wall. He was sure he dozed off a few times, but never longer than twenty minutes at a time.

As he spent that time alone—time when he wasn't working, time with his phone off, ignoring his life—it gave him a chance to _think_ about his life. He was pitying himself, which he hated. He was disappointed in himself, which he also hated. House felt he wasn't himself, but perhaps if he thought about his problems long enough, he might find a way back to the person he was before all of this happened.

He never wanted to be this bad, he never wanted to control his pain this way. Yeah, he used his Vicodin because he really didn't have a choice if he wanted to function after the infarction, but now, things were different. He gave in and felt sorry for himself and that was making him even more miserable, which, in turn, led to increasing his Vicodin intake.

A steady headache had begun to grow ever since he arrived home and his analyzing only made it worse. By the time the morning light was peeking through the blinds, he was slumped over on the couch, an arm hanging off as he still tried to keep awake.

The loud knock on his door brought him from a light sleep. House looked around his apartment, his eyes blurry and burning. He focused his attention on the clock and read the time. He was confused for a moment, thinking it was one thirty in the morning, but then he realized it had to be the afternoon.

He sat up quickly, his head throbbing and the room swaying. Someone was at his door and using a key, which meant it could only be one of two people. He knew who it couldn't be, which only left Wilson.

The door opened and House watched a fuzzy Wilson enter into his apartment. He let out a breath and flopped back down on the couch.

"Well, you're alive," Wilson said. "Thanks for letting the world know."

"The world doesn't care," House replied, his voice sounding groggy.

"Thanks for letting us know," Wilson corrected his statement.

"You don't—"

"Why else would I be here?" Wilson cut him off, not giving House a chance to finish that sentence. He crossed towards the couch and peered over at House. "What the hell is going on, House? Lisa told me you showed up at her house last night and threw up on her porch."

"I didn't throw up _on_ her porch," House nastily told him as he let his eyes close.

Wilson sighed as he took out his cell phone. He knew Cuddy was anxious and he wanted to ease her worry. He called her and waited through one ring before she picked up.

"Is he okay?" Cuddy asked.

"Yeah," Wilson answered. "I guess."

"You guess?" Cuddy repeated.

"Well, he's breathing," Wilson said. "And speaking."

"I'm right here," House spoke up from the couch.

"And he still has his attitude," Wilson added into the phone.

"Tell him that he better call into work the next time he wants to ignore his responsibilities or else he's fired," Cuddy replied.

"Yeah, I will." Wilson glanced at House. "I'll talk to you when I get back."

"Okay." There was a slight pause on her part. "And... thanks."

"Yeah."

Wilson hung up his cell phone and slid it into his pocket. He planted his hands on his hips as he looked over at House.

"She's pissed," House said, his eyes staying closed.

"She was worried," Wilson offered.

"And now she's pissed," House replied. He cleared his throat and shifted on the couch. "I fell asleep. That's why I didn't call."

"Why were you sleeping in the middle of the day?"

"You mean, in the morning?" House retorted with attitude.

"You're destroying your life," Wilson told him.

"Wow, really?"

House's sarcasm struck a nerve in Wilson. He took a step back, shaking his head.

"Fine, House. Do whatever you want. You want to kill yourself with drugs? Okay. Just remember that there are people that care about you." He paused a moment, his voice hardening. "Or, at least, there were."

With that, Wilson turned and left House alone in his apartment.

* * *

Cuddy opened her front door and wheeled herself back. House pushed open the door further, revealing himself to her. He didn't make eye contact.

"Hey."

"You didn't show up to work," her tone told him she was not happy.

"No," he simply replied.

"You didn't answer your phone when I called," she added.

"No."

Cuddy eyed him up. He still wouldn't look at her. She wondered how high he was and if he was going to throw up again. She didn't really want to repeat the previous night. But, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"I was worried," she confessed to him.

"Sorry." He shrugged, as if it wasn't a big deal.

"Sorry?" Cuddy repeated, raising her eyebrows. "What were you doing? Where were you? You just left last night and I didn't—"

"I know," he cut her off.

"What happened?" she asked, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice of wanting to know.

House finally raised his eyes to meet hers. They didn't seem clouded or dilated. He appeared there, but she still couldn't be sure.

"Let me in?"

He didn't answer any of her questions, but she thought she might get the truth if she did let him inside. Cuddy wheeled herself back and House entered into her home. He limped toward her living room and she followed after him.

"Don't lay on the floor again," she called out to him as he disappeared into her living room.

When she reached the doorway, she saw him sitting on the couch. He picked up her remote control and turned on the television.

"You came over here to watch TV?" She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Looks like it," he muttered in response, his eyes on the television.

Cuddy frowned, slightly annoyed, but she still believed that she could get him to talk if she let him stay.

"Do you want something to drink?" she asked.

"No," he answered.

"Okay," she replied and fell silent.

Cuddy parked herself next to the couch. She remained quiet, unsure of what to say. It was tricky, she knew that, and she didn't want to mess it up. After two episodes of _Seinfeld_, she finally decided to speak up.

"What did you do today?"

House looked over at her. "What?"

"What did you do today?" she repeated. "You didn't show up to work, so what were you doing?"

He shrugged. "Nothing."

"House." She narrowed her eyes at him.

"What?" he replied. "I slept. Sounds like nothing to me."

"I want you to get help," she told him.

"Don't need it," he replied.

"You're unhappy, you're taking way too many pills, and—" she cut herself off and quickly changed the words that were about to come out of her mouth. "—and you need help."

She wanted to say that if it wasn't for her, there wouldn't be this mess. If she could walk, he wouldn't feel so guilty. She frowned, wishing she could work on walking right now. As much as she wanted to walk before, she wanted it even more now if it meant House would feel better.

He rolled his eyes at her. "You exaggerate everything."

"I do not," she protested, glaring slightly at him. "Besides, you _want_ help."

"How can I want help if I know I don't need it?" House asked her.

"You wouldn't be here right now if you thought you didn't need it."

House ignored her and she studied him. He picked up the remote and began to flip through the channels.

"Do you want me to go to that dark place with you?" she said.

He frowned and looked over to her as he lowered the remote. The expression on his face showed his confusion.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about, House!" she replied angrily, tired of this back and forth, tired of this game.

He shook his head and began flipping through the stations again as he muttered, "shut up, Cuddy."

She wheeled herself over to the television and turned it off. She turned her chair toward House, remaining directly in front of the TV. House gave an annoyed stare.

"I'm done letting you call the shots," she told him. "You're not going to keep taking all these pills, you're not going to show up a wreck at my house, and you're not going to miss work."

House raised his eyebrows at her. "And how are you planning on making sure that happens?"

"By going with you into that dark place and making sure you come out alive," she said. "You're going to get help, House. I'm going to make sure of that."

"Yeah, uh-huh."

House stood from her couch, not wanting to take this anymore. He wasn't even sure why he decided to show up at her home. Maybe it was to apologize, but that didn't happen. He headed for the door. Cuddy wheeled herself after him.

"That's fine, House. Leave. But, don't think I'm going to give up. I will badger and harass you until you decide to get help for yourself.

"Fat chance that's gonna happen, Cuddy," House called over his shoulder and then left her house, closing the door behind him.

She let out a sigh. "You'll see, House."


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey, guys! Thanks for all the comments and sticking with this fic. This is the ****last chapter****. Sorry if it's kind of a surprise, but I felt it was coming to a close a few chapters ago. So, I hope you enjoy it.**

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"Oh, God."

House picked up his limping speed as he headed to his office. He knew based on experience that she would catch up to him in her wheelchair. He glanced back to see her gaining ground.

"Go away," he told her.

"You thought I wouldn't know you were in?" she replied and wheeled herself up to his side.

House stopped at the door to his office and turned towards her.

"I'm going to stop coming in if you don't leave me alone," he threatened.

"You might as well stop coming in now because it's like you're not even here half the time with all the drugs you take," she said, staring right back at him.

"Okay, then." House stepped around her and headed for the elevators. "See ya."

Cuddy turned her chair in his direction. "If you leave right now, I'll fire you."

He stopped and faced her. "You tell me to go, then you tell me to stay—"

"Yeah, because I know your team is competent enough to handle your cases even if you are high." Cuddy frowned and wheeled herself closer to him, allowing herself to lower her voice. "But, they are going to need you. And if you can't kick the drugs, then I'll have to fire you."

House held back a sigh and shook his head slightly. "I can't kick the drugs with my pain, Cuddy."

"But, you don't have to take them to the point where you're gone, House," she told him.

"I'm not," he insisted, starting to grow very annoyed.

She frowned at him. "Not _now_. But, two days ago—"

"You don't know what you're talking about," he cut her off harshly and began to head toward the elevators again.

Cuddy wheeled herself after him. "I told you I wasn't going to give up until you agreed to get help."

"I would get help if I thought I needed it," he called over his shoulder and then picked up his pace.

"You need it," she replied.

House stopped and faced her for a second time. He let out a sigh and lowered his eyes to meet hers.

"We've been doing this for over a week," he said. "I'm about to kill myself."

Cuddy gave a simple shrug. "Well, that's the price you pay for having me follow you around until you get the help you need."

She placed a tight smile on her face, looking up at him. He nodded slightly as an idea formed in his mind. House limped around her as he hooked his cane on his wrist. He took the handles of her wheelchair in his hand and turned her around.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, her hands on her wheels.

Cuddy removed her hands from the wheels, however, as House began to push her down the hall. With his determination, she was afraid her hands would get injured in the struggle. He used her wheelchair to take some of the pressure off of his thigh as he limped along.

"House, stop."

House did stop, but only to turn her around with him as he used his back to push open his office door. He entered and turned her back around before pushing her chair until she was in front of his desk. He took a step back, grabbed his cane, and began to head out of the room.

Cuddy turned her chair around and wheeled after him, but House had made sure the door was closed as he left. He glanced back at her and smirked, knowing it would be quite a struggle for her to get out of that room on her own. She glared at him in return. House gave a small wave and headed for the elevators.

* * *

"He hasn't been in for days."

Cuddy watched Wilson pace in her office. He was concerned and she was trying her best to reassure him that everything would hopefully pan out.

"He's fine," Cuddy told him.

Wilson stopped pacing and faced her, planting his hands to his hips. "I don't think this is working. How do you know he's fine?"

"I'm at his apartment before and after work," Cuddy said.

Wilson raised his eyebrows. "He lets you in?"

"No." She shook her head. "He never lets me in. Sometimes he talks to me through the door. But, mostly he has the TV blasting or he's at the piano or... sometimes it's quiet and it scares me, but he's okay."

"Why are you doing this for him, Lisa?" Wilson asked tiredly. He wanted House to get help, but he wasn't sure if Cuddy's route was the right one.

Her eyes met his. "For the same reasons you would if I wasn't."

* * *

The knocking was driving him crazy. House attempted to tune it out, but she was being relentless. He limped quickly to the door and opened it. His eyes went to Cuddy in her wheelchair for only a moment before he looked to an older gentleman standing beside her.

He was tall with slightly greying brown hair. He was dressed casually and had his hands in his pockets. His face was soft, which only disgusted House even more.

"Who the hell is this?" he demanded and put his focus back on Cuddy.

"I came to talk with you, Dr. House," the man said and stuck out a hand. "I'm Dr. Felder."

House shook his head and began to close the door. "No chance in hell."

Cuddy quickly wedged her wheelchair in his doorway. House frowned down at her, not wanting to play this game right now. He wanted to go back to his bedroom, crawl under the covers, and stay there for the next twelve hours.

"Get out, Cuddy," he told her harshly.

"No," Cuddy replied.

House rested his cane against the wall before he leaned over her, his hands on her armrests. He tried to push her chair back, but failed, not realizing the brakes were now on. Cuddy could smell him, he was so close, a scent of alcohol and something else she couldn't determine.

"I want you to get help," she spoke loudly, wanting to be sure he heard her.

"Christ." House straightened up and glared at her. "Stop it already. Please. And you know I don't beg."

"I'll stop if you'll agree to give me one week in counseling," she bargained.

"No," House instantly said.

"Just one week, House," Cuddy pleaded. "That's it. And I won't bother you about it again."

"I don't believe you."

House reached down and put both of her brakes off. He gave her wheelchair a harsh shove backwards, almost causing her to hit Dr. Felder in the process, and then slammed his door closed.

Cuddy set her jaw and looked up at Dr. Felder. "Yeah... I didn't think that would work."

* * *

"You look awful," she said, staring up at him and observing his messy hair, tired eyes, and stained tee-shirt.

"Yeah," he agreed gruffly. "Bring any doctors this week?"

"No," she answered.

House turned from her, leaving the door open, and walked back over to his couch. He collapsed down onto it and closed his eyes. Cuddy wheeled herself into his apartment and closed the door behind herself.

"Heard you fell today," House spoke up from the couch.

"I did."

Cuddy wheeled herself over to the couch. She observed him there, wondering how much he had taken. He was definitely not all together.

"I'm okay, though," she added in when House didn't respond.

He opened one eye and looked over at her. "Why'd you fall?"

"I was walking." She gave a small shrug. "Almost on my own. And then I went down."

"You're still in a chair." He shut his eye and draped his arm over both closed eyes. "You're not getting better."

"You should come to my PT sometime," she suggested. "I am getting better, House."

"Right," he agreed, but he didn't believe it.

Cuddy fell silent and wheeled herself closer to the couch. She looked over his coffee table, littered with empty pill bottles as well as empty bottles of beer. She felt she was coming to the end of this, that she was losing ground on her plan. It wasn't helping him.

"Why don't you just OD already?" she asked and looked over at him.

"Because I hate myself," he told her, wishing the room would stop feeling like it was spinning.

"No, really," she replied. "Just do it."

"Reverse psych, Cuddy?" House lifted his arm enough to glance over at her.

"No." She shook her head. "I just want to know. You seem so eager to end your pain, I don't know why you just don't end your life."

"Because being miserable is better than being dead," House said and then quickly added, "or so I've heard."

She softened her tone, hoping the switch would ease him into being honest with her. "What made you take so much today, House? Why today?"

"Why not today?" He let his arm slide over the edge of the couch. "Why not any day? Or everyday?"

"Last week, it was Monday and Friday," she recounted the days he had been worse. "This week it was Monday again, Tuesday, and today. I don't understand."

"I'm surprised you don't."

Cuddy stared at him, confused. "How could I?"

"Go away," he told her. "You're giving me a headache."

She eyed him up. "Are you going to be all right? Or should I let the hospital know you'll be needing your stomach pumped later?"

"I'll be just peachy when you get the hell out," House bitterly responded.

"Right." Cuddy gave a short nod. "See you tomorrow, House. If you show up."

She was definitely losing her ground. New tactics didn't throw him off guard enough to get somewhere, even when he was high. Feeling defeated, Cuddy wheeled herself to his door and let herself out.

* * *

That night, Cuddy remained awake in bed, thinking about House, thinking about herself, thinking about the day the collapse happened and everything it entailed. As she recounted her personal triumphs and failures in her physical therapy, she came to a realization.

It was on days where Cuddy had set backs in physical therapy that House would get really far gone with his drugs. She realized that she was the cause of his problem. He took more drugs over his chronic guilt.

As it stood now, she has good days and bad days, just like House. Their good days and bad days had become identical due to House's reaction to her bad days. Cuddy felt like a fool for not becoming aware of it sooner.

She sat up in bed, wanting to talk to House, but she knew that was impossible. He wouldn't be answering the phone and there was no way she could get to his house. She couldn't walk on her own yet, let alone drive, and she certainly wasn't going to get Sally up in the middle of the night to take her to House's apartment.

With a quiet sigh, Cuddy rested back down. Her mind began to formulate a new plan. Of course, it was going to take work, but she felt it gave her even more drive to get better. She couldn't wait to get to the hospital and to her physical therapy session.

* * *

"I have something to show you," Cuddy told him after he finally let her into his apartment.

House leaned against the back of his couch, his eyes on her. "Do you?"

Cuddy reached down and moved her foot pedals to the side. She placed the brakes on and clutched the armrests. House watched intently, wondering if she was really going to try and stand.

Using her arms to help her, Cuddy stood to her feet and balanced. She removed her hands from her wheelchair and took a step forward with her right foot. Then, she took another, slightly fumbling step with her left.

House stared at her, not really believing it. He knew she was getting better, but he always saw her in the chair, which only enforced to him that she wasn't going to walk.

Cuddy felt her legs starting to weaken. She still didn't have the strength she wanted, even if she was improving. She turned and began for the chair, but she was worried she wasn't going to make it. House sensed this, however, and limped over to her. He held onto her as she made her way back to the wheelchair.

"Thanks," she said as they worked together to reach the chair.

Once she was seated, Cuddy looked up at him.

"See?" She raised her eyebrows. "I _can_ walk. And I'll do much better with practice. I'll walk again, House. Just like before."

"Like before." He nodded slightly.

"Yeah," she agreed. She lowered her gaze for a moment as she drew in a breath. "I know about the pills."

"What?" House asked, feigning shock. "_No_. You don't say."

"I mean... I noticed about when you took more," she corrected her statement. "It was on days when I had issues."

"Yeah," House replied quietly, finally giving her a little to work with.

"And you just saw me walk," she added.

"So, what?" House's voice turned hard and he made his way back over to the couch.

He stayed at the back of it, staring at the blank television. Cuddy wheeled herself towards him.

"So, you don't have to stay in that dark place," she said. "I'm getting better. Like before. And you can, too."

"It's not that easy."

"Maybe not, but it doesn't have to be this hard, House," she told him. "It doesn't have to be this painful. Why continue to punish yourself when I just showed you that I can walk?"

"Maybe I still deserve it." He turned, then, to face her.

She locked her eyes with his. "You don't. And you never did." She wheeled herself closer to him. "Please, House. I want you to get better. And I know you don't want to live like this."

He frowned at her. "How do you know what I want?"

"You're right." She nodded slightly, taking in the heat of his words. "I don't."

Cuddy wheeled her chair back before turning it around. All of this, these past weeks, all of it meant nothing since House seemed to still have his walls so very high. He wasn't letting her in, he wasn't giving her anything. If he did, he took it away a second later. She couldn't help him and that was why she was heading for his door.

"Cuddy," he spoke up.

She stopped her wheelchair, before turning it enough to look at him. He raised his eyes to her.

"If you'll be okay, then I'll... you know."

House gave a nod, never wanting to admit to anything of the positive note, but he did want to assure her that if things would be working out well for her, that they could do the same for him.

Cuddy nodded in response, letting him know she understood. She wheeled herself to his front door and opened it, not expecting any help from House. Once she was in his hall, she turned herself around to face him.

"I'll see you Monday, House."

He acknowledged her words and she fumbled around with his apartment door before closing it. She paused a moment outside of his closed door before taking out her cell phone and calling for a ride home.


	12. Epilogue

**Since some people felt like this wasn't finished (and I was kind of was weary on the last chapter), I wrote an epilogue. And I hope to God it gives some people some closure... even if I do leave some things/ideas unsaid.**

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* * *

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**One Year Later.**

Cuddy awoke from a dream that frightened her. She had been suffocating under thick, black smoke, crushed by broken wood and glass. She took in a few deep breaths as she realized it was morning. Every once in a while she had those dreams that reminded her of the day the hospital collapsed in on her.

Throwing back the covers, she moved toward the edge of the bed. Cuddy reached for the cane resting against the night stand and stood to her feet. She used the cane on her left side, the side that had not fully gained function and feeling back after the physical therapy.

Her life was different now, but she couldn't be sure if it was for the better or worse. Her routine became different. Exercising, driving, walking through the hospital was all different. It made her appreciate House more for the work he had to do after his infarction.

Cuddy headed for her kitchen in order to put her coffee pot on. Her left leg was stiffer than usual, which made her already slow pace even slower. She hated that she couldn't walk as fast as she used to, but she figured it was better than not walking at all.

* * *

"Thank you, again, for doing this," Jane said as she walked alongside of Cuddy.

"I don't mind," Cuddy assured her, trying to keep up with Jane's pace. "Really."

Jane stopped at the door to the physical therapy department and opened it for Cuddy. She passed through first and then Jane led her through the waiting room and into the main area. Kevin hurriedly approached as he made eye contact with Cuddy. He gave her a smile.

"Looking good, Dr. Cuddy," he told her.

"Thanks." She returned the smile. "How's everything going?"

"Great." Kevin nodded. "What about you? Still doing well?"

"Yes," Cuddy answered. "Things are a lot better."

"Excellent," Kevin replied. He gave a nod over to a patient. "I gotta get back, but definitely stop by more often."

"Yeah, sure." Cuddy smiled again. "Thanks."

"This way, Lisa."

Jane headed for her office and Lisa followed after her. Jane opened the door and stepped into the office. A girl with blonde hair was sitting in a wheelchair. She looked up at Jane and then her eyes immediately went to Cuddy.

"Sasha, this Doctor Lisa Cuddy," Jane introduced Cuddy to the child.

"Hi," Cuddy said to the girl.

"Hi," Sasha meekly responded.

"I'll just let you two talk for a bit," Jane told them both before leaving the room.

Cuddy walked over to the chair across from Sasha's wheelchair. She sat down and rested her cane against the edge of her chair.

"How old are you, Sasha?" Cuddy asked her, a little unsure about how to break the ice.

"Ten," Sasha answered quietly.

Cuddy shifted in her chair. "Do you go to school?"

The little girl picked at the armrest with fingernails coated in chipped sparkly green nail polish. She kept her eyes down as she answered the question.

"No. I can't use my wheelchair at school, so my aunt teaches me."

"You know, I used to be in a wheelchair like yours," Cuddy got right down to the heart of the matter, to the subject Jane wanted her to broach.

Sasha's brown eyes observed Cuddy for a moment, unsure if she could believe her. Finally, her eyes settled on the scar on Cuddy's forehead. It was faint, but still noticeable and it gave the girl reason to trust what Cuddy was telling her.

"What happened to you?" Sasha asked.

"A small plane crashed into a building I was in," Cuddy told her, not wanting to scare her with the details that it was _this_ hospital the plane crashed into.

"Really?" Sasha's mouth fell open and her eyes widened. "And you can walk now?"

Cuddy nodded. "Yep. And from what Jane tells me, you will be able to one day, too."

Sasha suddenly lowered her gaze to the small hands now folded in her lap. Cuddy watched the girl, wondering what was going through her mind.

"It hurts too much," Sasha said. "And I can't even stand."

"It does hurt," Cuddy agreed. "I started out in the same place as you. I couldn't stand either and I could hardly even move my legs. But, because of physical therapy, I improved. It took time and work, but it was worth it. I can walk now."

"But, what if I can't?" Sasha raised her gaze to Cuddy.

"Well, that might happen, too," Cuddy assured her. "But, Jane and your other doctors are very hopeful about you being able to walk again."

Sasha had returned to looking down at her hands. Cuddy was at a loss now, not knowing what else she could say to the girl to give her the encouragement she needed to work on getting better.

"Both my parents died in the car accident," Sasha spoke quietly.

"I'm very sorry, Sasha" Cuddy responded sincerely and placed a hand on the girl's knee. She hesitated a moment. "Would you like me to be there when you work with Jane today? I would really like to be there for you if you'd let me."

She gave a shrug and lifted her eyes to Cuddy. "Yeah."

"Okay." Cuddy patted Sasha's leg. "We'll go through it together, kiddo."

* * *

Cuddy pressed the button for the elevator and watched it light up. She took a step back and waited. She drew in a breath, calming herself in the environment that still smelled of new paint.

After a moment, the elevator doors slid open and House stood there in the empty elevator. He locked eyes with her and they both thought about the last time they were on this floor together.

House stepped out of the elevator. "Going down?"

"Yeah," she answered after a moment. "What are you doing up here?"

"Drug test." He held up a form. "Thanks, by the way."

"No problem," she muttered, offering him a half smile. She couldn't get the image of him pulling her into the waiting room to avoid destruction out of her head.

"I thought you were going down," he commented as the elevator doors slid shut. He looked back over at her. "Why are you here?"

She snapped to attention. "Oh. I was giving everything the once over before State comes in tomorrow to check it out and make sure everything's up to par."

"Right." House gave a slight nod. "So, this new lady? She as much of a bitch as Lorrainey was?"

"No," Cuddy answered him. "And don't talk about Lorraine like that."

"Why?" House's eyebrows drew together. "She's dead."

Cuddy rolled her eyes as she stepped past him in order to press the button for the elevator again.

"Nice respect for the dead," she said, but didn't really direct the words at him as she tried not to be confrontational.

"Well, she was, Cuddy," he replied.

"Yeah." She smirked slightly, giving into him. "She was."

"It's funny." House's eyes were on the ground as he gave his cane a tap to the floor. "Ending up back where we started."

Cuddy stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"You're walking," he pointed out, lifting his eyes to hers. "I'm not a druggie. A year's passed making some things different, but we're pretty much more or less back to before." He let out a breath. "Even after all that shit in between."

The elevator doors slid open. House looked to them expectantly, waiting for her to board. She brought her eyes over to him.

"Do you want me to wait for you?" she asked.

"I'm afraid if we invade too much of the same space up here, we'll have a repeat performance," he told her.

"Maybe we should disprove that superstition by staying together," she suggested.

"Well, that logic's playing with fire," he replied.

Cuddy raised her eyebrows at him. "I never knew you were superstition, Dr. House."

"I'm not," he said. "I just don't want you waiting."

"I'll see you later, House."

She stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the ground floor. Cuddy waited for the doors to close as House began talking, his back partially to her.

"'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog and little mouse, every unworthy thing—"

The doors began to close as Cuddy listened intently to the words House was quoting.

"—live here in heaven and may look on her; but Romeo may not."

Cuddy jammed her finger into the door open button before the doors had a chance to close. The doors slid back open, revealing House, who was facing her now.

"We are _not_ Romeo and Juliet," Cuddy insisted, locking eyes with him.

House frowned slightly, feigning confusion. "Did I say we were?"

"House..." Cuddy paused a moment before deciding to drop it. "Go pee in a cup."

She removed her finger from the door open button and the doors began to shut again. They were almost closed when House's cane stopped them, forcing them back open. Cuddy rolled her eyes. When House came into her view, she raised her eyebrows at him.

"Now, what?" she asked.

House stepped into the elevator and placed his lips against her soft ones. As quickly as he had made contact, he pulled back and stepped back out of the elevator. His thoughts were on her, on the fact that he could be without her right now.

"You're okay to have around, Cuddy," House told her as if giving her permission to exist. He gave a shrug and then added, "Sometimes."

The elevator doors finally closed.

Cuddy's eyebrows drew together, thinking about what had just transpired. House was different, but only in a very slight way, a way no one else really seemed to notice. As she thought about it, and thought about the collapsing hospital, she figured that maybe everything, both good and bad, happened for a reason.

**End.**


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